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v«a  *?*. 

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— ^AVA.'VAv- — 

PRESENTED 


BY 


"  •Sfuggrave,  D 


AY  11  .R4  1832 

The  religious  souvenir,  a 
Christmas,  New  Year's  and 


\/  ^  fd  mmwm  v 


Digitized  by  the  Internet  Archive 
in  2019  with  funding  from 
Princeton  Theological  Seminary  Library 


https://archive.org/details/religioussouveniOOunse 


THE 


RELIGIOUS  SOUVENIR, 


Cfirustmas,  Weto  dear’s  anti  33trti)  Ban  present 


FOR 


MDCCCXXXIII. 


EDITED  BY 


y 

G.  T.  BEDELL,  D.D. 

RECTOR  OF  SAINT  ANDREW’S  CHURCH,  PHILADELPHIA 


PHILADELPHIA: 

KEY,  MIELKE  &  BIDDLE, 


181  MARKET  STREET. 


Entered  according  to  the  act  of  congress,  in  the  year  1832,  by 
Key,  Mielke  &  Biddle,  in  the  office  of  the  clerk  of  the  district 
court  of  the  eastern  district  of  Pennsylvania. 


Philadelphia: 

James  Kay,  Jun.  &  Co.,  Printers, 
4  Minor  Street. 


PREFACE. 


The  Editor,  to  whom  has  been  entrusted  the  adjust¬ 
ment  of  the  matter  for  the  1  Religious  Souvenir,’  and 
whose  name  the  Publishers  have  requested  might 
stand  upon  its  title  page,  feels  very  deeply  the  respon¬ 
sibility  attaching  to  the  preparation  of  a  work  like 
this.  When  the  idea  was  first  suggested  to  him  by 
the  enterprising  publishers,  he  felt  disposed  to  decline 
it,  on  the  score  of  health  hardly  equal  to  the  under¬ 
taking,  and  the  pressure  of  the  duties  appertaining  to 
the  oversight  of  a  large  city  congregation.  But,  on 
mature  reflection,  and  he  hopes  not  without  the 
desire  of  Divine  direction,  he  determined  that  it  was 


4 


PREFACE. 


his  duty  to  undertake  the  work,  as  he  thought  he 
perceived  the  immense  advantage  which  might  be 
gained  to  the  cause  of  religion ,  by  his  bringing  it 
before  the  minds  of  a  large  class  of  readers,  in  a  form 
at  present  so  decidedly  popular  as  that  of  an  Annual. 
In  the  prosecution  of  his  design  he  immediately  com¬ 
menced  a  correspondence  with  some  of  our  best 
religious  writers  in  every  section  of  the  union,  solicit¬ 
ing  their  contributions;  and  he  is  happy  to  say,  that 
all  to  whom  he  wrote  acknowledged  the  utility  of  the 
plan,  and  the  greater  part  of  them  promised  their 
assistance.  It  has  been  the  aim  of  the  Editor  to 
accomplish  two  purposes;  to  make  the  work  now  pre¬ 
sented  to  the  public,  first  of  decidedly  religious  utility, 
and  second,  of  literary  interest.  His  mind  does  not 
hesitate  a  moment  in  believing,  that,  by  the  blessing 
of  God,  he  has  been  enabled  to  accomplish  the  first , 
and  he  hopes  that,  on  a  diligent  perusal,  his  readers 
will  not  be  disappointed  in  the  second.  He  is  not  un¬ 
willing  to  hazard  his  reputation,  as  a  Christian  and  a 


PREFACE. 


5 


minister  of  the  Gospel,  on  the  truth  of  the  declaration, 
that  not  one  line  or  word  will  be  found  in  the  volume 
which  might  cause  a  Christian  to  fear  its  being  put 
into  the  hands  of  any  one  to  whom  he  might  desire  to 
present  it;  and  he  also  trusts,  that,  in  the  contributions 
with  which  he  has  been  favoured,  there  will  be  found 
sufficient  evidence  of  so  high  an  order  of  talent,  as  to 
secure  the  work  the  favour  of  an  enlightened  public. 
All  but  one  of  the  articles  is  original;  and  this 
will  easily  be  distinguished.  As  to  the  original  arti¬ 
cles,  the  initials  of  the  writers  are  attached  to  their 
several  productions.  The  most  of  the  names  may  be 
judged  of,  by  those  who  are  conversant  with  our 
American  writers.  Had  the  Editor  been  permitted  to 
give  them  in  full,  it  would  have  added  to  the  interest 
of  the  work ; — but  this  was  beyond  his  control.  The 
Editor  has  furnished  as  little  matter  for  the  work  him¬ 
self,  as  the  nature  of  the  case  would  allow:  those 
articles  for  which  he  is  responsible  as  author  are 
those  to  which  no  signature  is  attached.  The  design 


6 


PREFACE. 


of  the  work,  it  is  confidently  believed,  will  by  all  be 
approved :  of  its  execution  there  will  be  difference  of 
sentiment.  If  it  does  good,  the  object  of  the  Editor  is 
gained.  Should  the  present  volume  meet  the  ap¬ 
probation  of  the  public,  another  will  be  commenced 
for  the  succeeding  year,  the  matter  of  which  will  be 
of  a  still  more  elevated  character  than  could  be  ven¬ 
tured  in  the  almost  untried  field  which  this  volume 


occupies. 


CONTENTS. 


Happy  New  Year.  • 

What  is  thy  Hope  ? 

The  Passing  Bell. 

Alpine  Mastiffs,  or  the  Dogs  of  Saint  Bernard. 
My  Mother.  • 

Night . 

Sabbath  Evening  in  the  Country. 

The  Blessings  of  Adversity. 

Sacred  Lyrics . 

The  Patriarch . 


Tyre. 


8 


CONTENTS 


Dreams.  . 109 

Midnight  Hymn.  . 118 

The  Sunday  Infant-School  Boy. . 121 

To  the  Evening  Star.  . 131 

The  Empty  Bier.  . 132 

The  Prophet  Elijah . 134 

Christian  Laconics . 137 

Saint  John’s  Vision . 151 

The  Christian  Soldier. . 155 

The  Angel  Choir. . 163 

Washington. . 167 

The  Flood.  ...  : . 169 

The  Lady  of  Shunem. . 170 

Passages . 191 

Counsels  to  the  Young . 196 

Hymn  of  the  Reapers. . 212 

The  Vision.  . 214 

The  Last  Days  of  Autumn.  . 221 


The  Duellist. 


223 


CONTENTS 


9 


Parental  Regret.  ........  240 

The  Great  Refiner . 243 

The  Missionary.  .  .  . . 245 

Samson.  262 

Shall  I  consent  to  become  his  Wife?  ....  266 

Christmas  Eve . 270 

The  Inscription  on  the  Cross . 278 


Closing  Thoughts. 


281 


EMBELLISHMENTS. 

I.  — Frontispiece.  The  Mother.  Engraved  by  Ellis 

from  a  Picture  by  Sir  Thomas  Lawrence.  .  .  1 

II.  — Alpine  Mastiffs.  Engraved  by  Tucker  from  a  Pic¬ 

ture  by  Edwin  Landseer.  . 30 

III.  — Sunday  Evening.  Engraved  by  Steel  from  a  Pic¬ 

ture  by  R.  Westall . 62 

IV.  — The  Patriarch.  Engraved  by  Neagle  from  a  Pic¬ 

ture  by  Cook . 100 

V.— The  Prophet  Elijah.  Engraved  by  Steel  from  a  Pic¬ 
ture  by  Martin . 134 


VI.— Elisha  raising  the  Shunamite’s  Son.  Engraved  by 
Longacre  from  a  Picture  by  West . 


188 


12 


EMBELLISHMENTS. 


VII.  — Parental  Regret.  Engraved  by  Wellmore  from  a 

Picture  by  Scheffer . 240 

VIII.  — Samson.  Engraved  by  Smillie  from  a  Picture  by 

Lucas. . 262 

IX.— Crucifixion.  Engraved  by  Keenan  from  a  Pic¬ 
ture  by  Martin. . 278 


HAPPY  NEW  YEAR. 


“Happy  New  Year,  Happy  New  Year!”  cried  half 
a  dozen  of  ruby  faced  children,  as  they  burst  into  the 
parlour  where  their  father  and  mother  were  sitting  just 
ready  to  take  their  places  at  the  breakfast  table ; — and 
they  were  soon  made  happy  by  receiving  the  fond 
kiss  customary  on  these  occasions,  and  espying  the 
basket  under  the  table,  which  they  rightly  judged 
contained  the  presents  of  which  they  had  all  night 
been  dreaming. 

I  hardly  dare  to  say  when  the  circumstance  above 
related  occurred,  for  it  would  give  an  air  of  too  great 
antiquity  to  my  subject.  With  the  improvement  of 
the  age,  and  the  march  of  intellect,  there  are  some 
old  customs,  which  I  am  disposed  to  think  unhap» 
pily  forgotten;  and  one  of  them  is  this  very  custom 
of  children  and  servants  wishing  a  happy  new  year 


B 


14 


RELIGIOUS  SOUVENIR. 


to  the  heads  of  the  domestic  circle,  and  receiving 
in  return,  not  only  some  kind  expressions  of  good 
will,  but  some  more  manifest  tokens  of  regard  in  the 
shape  of  presents.  These  are  among  the  1  small 
things’  of  life  which  ought  not  to  be  despised ;  for 
however  trifling  they  may  appear,  they  most  certainly 
have  a  tendency  to  draw  closer  the  cords  of  social 
enjoyment.  If  the  state  of  society  some  century  and 
a  half  ago,  was  rather  too  stiff  and  formal,  it  is  now 
too  much  relaxed  and  independent.  I  remember  a 
great  uncle,  who  used  to  entertain  me  sometimes, 
when  I  was  too  boisterous  and  free  for  his  taste, 
by  telling  me,  that  when  he  was  a  child,  he  always 
was  used  to  make  a  bow  when  he  came  into  the  room 
where  his  parents  were  sitting,  and  he  never  pre¬ 
sumed  to  take  a  seat  till  he  was  told,  and  that  then  he 
sat  perfectly  still,  and  never  spoke  till  he  was  spoken 
to.  This  I  think  was  all  wrong,  because,  I  apprehend, 
the  warmth  of  affection  may  be  somewhat  chilled ;  but, 
at  the  same  time,  I  am  not  without  some  misgivings 
whether  even  this  is  not  better  than  the  rude  and 
unmannerly  deportment  of  some  children  at  the  pre¬ 
sent  day.  I  have  seen  much  of  the  world,  being  fond 
of  travel,  and  myself  a  member  of  what  may  be  called 
£  good  society,’  so  that  my  intercourse  wherever  I 
am,  is  always  among  persons  of  the  most  respectable 


HAPPY  NEW  YEAR. 


15 


standing;  and  I  have  remarked  that  the  children  of 
the  present  day  are  very  different  from  those  I  have 
heard  and  read  of,  in  the  time  of  our  forefathers. 
I  have  seen  many  a  family  of  children  enter  the 
parlour  in  the  morning,  and  never  think  of  any  respect¬ 
ful  address  to  their  parents  or  elders,  such  as  1  good 
morning,’  &c.;  and  I  have  seen  them,  when  there  was 
company  in  the  room,  making  themselves  as  noisy  as 
they  listed;  and  I  have  seen  them  at  table,  helping 
themselves  to  what  they  pleased,  and  expressing 
their  likes  and  dislikes,  as  if  they  were  perfectly  their 
own  masters.  Now  all  this  may  be  very  fine,  and 
indicate  a  great  improvement  in  society,  but  to 
my  old  fashioned  taste,  I  am  not  sure  that  the  1  old 
ways’  were  not  on  the  whole  better  calculated  not 
only  for  domestic  happiness,  but  for  the  ultimate 
welfare  of  the  children  themselves. 

But  methinks  my  readers  will  begin  to  wonder 
what  all  this  has  to  do  with  1  happy  new  year:’ — well, 
let  it  pass,  and  I  will  go  back  to  my  story.  I 
happened  to  be  on  a  visit  to  a  friend  in  the  city  of 
- ,  and  intended  only  to  spend  the  Christmas  holi¬ 
days;  but  a  storm  of  snow  detained  me  till  the  third 
of  January ;  and  as  I  am  always  an  early  riser,  I  was 
in  the  parlour,  when  Mr  and  Mrs  Smith  (for  so  I  shall 
call  them)  came  down.  After  such  recognitions  as 


16 


RELIGIOUS  SOUVENIR. 


were  suitable  to  ourselves,  we  sat  down  to  chat,  and 
in  a  few  moments  we  were  broken  in  upon,  by  the 
exclamations  with  which  I  began  my  relation.  As 
soon  as  the  breakfast  was  despatched,  which  was 
hastily  done  (for  I  have  never  seen  children  who 
had  much  appetite  when  their  expectations  of  some 
other  gratification  were  high),  the  basket  was  placed 
on  the  table,  and  Mrs  Smith,  who  officiated  on  the 
occasion,  soon  removed  the  mysterious  cover,  and 
unveiled  the  contents.  I  do  not  stop  to  tell  what 
these  were.  There  was  a  great  variety,  and  all  judi¬ 
ciously  selected.  I  saw  no  cakes  or  sweetmeats. 
There  were  a  few  oranges  and  nuts  and  raisins,  but 
the  mass  was  principally  made  up  of  work  bags,  &c. 
for  the  girls,  some  appropriate  articles  of  amusement 
for  the  younger  boys,  and  some  articles  of  utility  for 
the  servants;  there  was  also  a  doll  for  the  infant: 
but  the  most  I  saw  was  in  the  form  of  books — really 
good,  substantially  useful  books,  such  as  were  cal¬ 
culated  to  interest  the  attention,  and  inform  the 
understanding;  and  they  all  were  selected  with  a 
view  to  their  religious  bearing ,  for  Mr  and  Mrs  Smith 
were  fully  persuaded  that  it  is  unlawful  for  Christians 
to  put  any  books  in  their  children’s  hands,  but  those 
that  at  least  shall  have  a  religious  aspect.  I  involun¬ 
tarily  put  my  hand  into  my  pocket,  to  draw  out  some 


HAPPY  NEW  YEAR. 


17 


half  dozen  little  books  with  which  I  had  provided 
myself;  and  I  recollected  at  once,  that  I  had  thought - 
Zkssly  bought  one  of  the  high  priced  English  annuals, 
more  for  its  beauty  than  any  thing  else,  and  which 
I  had  intended  to  present  to  Eliza  Smith,  the  eldest 
daughter^  This  book  was  filled  with  most  exquisitely 
beautiful  engravings  and  touching  stories,  but  no 
religion  was  there.  I  had  read  it,  and  admired  much 
that  I  had  read ;  but  my  conscience  misgave  me  soon 
after  I  had  bought  it,  for  there  were  some  pieces  of 
amatory  poetry,  and  some  stories  calculated  to  foster 
false  taste  and  sentiment.  When  I  saw  how  much 
more  judicious  the  parents  had  been,  I  thought  at 
once,  Shall  I  put  what  may  do  harm  amidst  all  this 
good  ?  shall  I  play  the  part  of  a  serpent  in  this  para¬ 
dise,  and  tempt  to  food  which  may  be  ‘pleasant  to 
the  eye,’  but  not  calculated  to  1  make  men  wise’ 
or  good.  I  withdrew  my  hand,  determined  rather 
to  be  thought  churlish,  than,  at  the  risk  of  harm,  win 
a  childish  affection.  The  thought  passed  my  mind — 
what  a  pity  that  there  is  not  a  Religious  Annual, 
which  may  be  safely  given  as  a  new  year’s  present. 

As  soon  as  the  presents  were  opened,  and  admira¬ 
tion  had  exhausted  its  vocabulary  of  beautiful ,  elegant , 
delightful ,  and  some  dozen  or  so  of  such  expressions, 
Mr  Smith  observed,  “  I  think  your  mother  has  for- 


18 


RELIGIOUS  SOUVENIR. 


gotten  something.”  Mrs  Smith  then  drew  from  the 
basket  a  small  roll  of  paper,  tied  with  a  delicate  blue 
ribbon,  and  on  it  was  written,  ‘  For  all  the  childrert.’ 
Then  was  curiosity  more  intensely  awakened ;  and  I 
must  confess  that  I  was  not  without  some  little  share 
of  it  myself.  However,  we  were  not  kept  long  in 
suspense :  Mr  Smith  took  the  roll,  and,  carefully 
untying  it,  read  the  following  title,  4  The  parents’ 
new  year’s  present  to  their  beloved  children;’  and 
then  he  read  what  I  now  give  exactly  as  it  was  writ¬ 
ten  : 

u  Dear  Children  : — Some  of  you  for  a  greater,  and 
some  for  a  lesser  number  of  years,  have  been  in  the 
habit  on  the  morning  of  the  first  day  of  the  year,  of 
wishing  your  parents  1  a  happy  new  year;’  and  it  has 
not  only  been  the  sincere  desire,  but  the  most  earnest 
and  heartfelt  prayer  of  your  dear  mother  and  myself, 
that  you  all  may  experience  many,  very  many  happy 
returns  of  this  same  season  of  joy  and  congratulation. 
But  how  much  is  implied  in  the  wish  of  a  happy  new 
year,  how  much  more  than  any  of  you  have  ever  yet 
thought  of.  You  have  wished  your  parents  a  happy 
year.  What  is  it,  my  children,  that  will  make  the 
year  happy  to  them?  They  are  already  happy  in  the 
love  of  your  tender  and  affectionate  hearts ;  and  they 
have  reason  to  be  thankful  to  God,  that  you  are  not 


HAPPY  NEW  YEAR. 


19 


only  affectionate,  but  that  you  have  proved  yourselves, 
on  the  whole,  obedient  children;  not  that  there  has 
never  been  any  evidence  of  waywardness,  or  that 
you  have  never  given  cause  of  uneasiness ;  but  that 
your  parents  have  been  enabled,  by  the  blessing 
of  God,  in  some  degree  to  counteract  such  evil  ten¬ 
dencies  as  they  have  perceived.  But  now  we  have 
anxieties  of  a  very  different  and  peculiar  character. 
Some  of  you  are  so  much  grown,  that  you  are  more 
or  less  removed  beyond  the  continual  superintendence 
of  our  eyes.  What  then  will  make  us  happy  for  the 
year  to  come  ?  It  is  that  evemj  one  of  you  should 
resolve  this  day  to  give  your  hearts  to  God,  according 
to  this,  His  tender  request — ‘  Son,  give  unto  me  thy 
heart.’  Your  parents  have  often  talked  with  you,  from 
you,  Eliza,  down  to  your  little  brother  William,  and 
presented  the  claims  of  religion,  with  all  earnestness 
and  affection,  and  they  have  never  ceased  to  pray 
with  you,  and  for  you,  that  you  might  1  remember 
your  creator  in  the  days  of  your  youth.’  W7hat  can 
make  them  happy,  if  you  should  grow  up  careless  of 
your  greatest  and  best  of  friends  and  benefactors, 
even  of  him  who  died  on  the  cross  that  you  might  be 
be  saved  P  Your  father  and  mother  do  not  wish  to 
pour  the  gloom  of  evil  anticipations  over  the  happy 
character  of  the  present  day;  but  they  wish  it  im- 


20 


RELIGIOUS  SOUVENIR. 


pressed  upon  your  minds,  that  both  they  and  you  must 
die;  and  that  there  can  be  no  rational  probability  of 
happiness,  either  here  or  hereafter,  which  is  not 
founded  on  religion,  embraced  with  the  heart,  and 
carried  out  into  the  life. 

“Dear  children,  the  only  way  that  you  yourselves 
can  expect  a  happy  year ,  is  to  yield  your  hearts  to 
God;  and  then  you  will  find  his  own  words  true, 
that  the  ‘  ways’  of  religion  are  ‘  ways  of  pleasant¬ 
ness,’  and  that  ‘  all  her  paths  are  peace.’  The  only 
way  in  which  your  kind  and  affectionate  wishes  of  a 
happy  new  year  to  your  parents  can  be  realized,  is, 
that  you  seek  to  make  them  happy ,  by  securing  your 
own  best  happiness.  If  you  are  happy  in  the  love  of 
God,  they  must  be  happy,  for  they  have  no  wish  for 
you,  but  that  you  may  become  the  ‘children  of  the 
Lord.’  And  now,  my  dear  children,  let  us  sing  our 
new  year’s  hymn; — and  then,  when  we  have  com¬ 
mended  ourselves  to  the  Lord,  let  us  begin  to  enjoy 
rightly  our  happiest  new  year 

I  hope  my  readers  will  not  accuse  me  of  weakness, 
if  I  say,  that  I  wept  outright,  but  they  were  tears  of 
delight.  I  saw  the  eyes  of  the  lovely  children  bathed 
in  tears,  but  they  were  not  such  tears  as  are  shed  for 
pain  which  may  not  be  alleviated.  Mr  Smith  read 
an  appropriate  hymn,  which  was  sung,  if  not  with  the 


HAPPY  NEW  YEAR. 


21 


skilful  execution  of  the  practised  choir,  at  least  with 
the  feelings  of  awakened  religious  sensibility.  When 
it  was  over,  he  asked  me  as  a  friend,  to  lead  the  devo¬ 
tions  of  the  domestic  circle; — and  I  had  reason  to 
thank  God,  for  as  happy  a  new  year,  as  had  ever 
fallen  to  my  lot  to  enjoy. 


22 


RELIGIOUS  SOUVENIR. 


WHAT  IS  THY  HOPE  ? 


What  is  thy  hope  ?  Oh !  if  to  the  earth, 

Like  the  grovelling  vine,  it  clings, 

Nor  shoots  one  aspiring  tendril  forth, 

In  search  after  higher  things : 

In  vain  is  it  nurtur’d  with  ceaseless  toil, 

Confined  to  the  cold  world’s  ungenial  soil; 

Each  prop  that  supports  it  must  perish,  and  all 
Its  buds  of  fair  promise  unopen’d  fall — 

Alas!  for  the  hopes  that  are  nourish’d  here, 

’Midst  the  storms  of  earth’s  changeful  atmosphere. 

Then  what  is  thy  hope  ?  To  what  pitch  of  pride 
Would  thy  restless  ambition  tower? 

Wouldst  thou  over  fallen  empires  stride, 

To  the  summit  of  human  power  ? 

Couldst  thou  conquer  realms,  make  thy  will  their  law , 
And  hold  the  subject  world  in  awe ; 


WHAT  IS  THY  HOPE. 


23 


Should  kings  as  vassals  attend  thy  nod, 

Thou  must  die,  and  thy  spirit  return  to  God ; 

And  how  worthless  are  sceptres  and  thrones  of  power 
To  a  monarch’s  soul  in  his  dying  hour. 

Say,  what  is  thy  hope  ?  Dost  thou  pursue 
Of  pleasure  the  giddy  round, 

With  the  phantom  of  happiness  ever  in  view, 
W'here  true  happiness  never  was  found  ? 

Oh  !  plunge  not,  in  search  after  bliss  supreme, 

’Midst  the  whirlpools  of  pleasure’s  polluted  stream  : 
Amidst  her  mad  orgies,  thou  never  canst  find 
Joys  worth  the  pursuit  of  a  rational  mind  ; 

Oh  !  fly  her  seductions,  resist  her  control, 

She  poisons,  debases  and  ruins  the  soul. 

But  what  is  thy  hope  ?  Dost  thou  pant  to  find 
Of  riches  a  treasure  untold  ? 

Thou  never  canst  purchase  peace  of  mind, 

Nor  a  length  of  days,  with  gold. 

It  procures  no  exemption  from  worldly  woe, 

Nor  will  death,  for  a  bribe,  his  prey  forego : 

Though  thou  hoard  up  wealth,  and  ‘  add  field  to  field,’ 
No  advantage  in  death  will  thy  treasures  yield, 

Thou  must  leave  thy  possessions  to  other  men — 

And  where  will  thy  hope  and  thy  soul  be  then  ? 


24 


RELIGIOUS  SOUVENIR. 


Yet  what  is  thy  hope  ?  Is  it  that  which  leads 
The  aspirants  to  glory  forth, 

To  win  for  themselves  by  heroic  deeds 
The  fleeting  applause  of  earth? 

Thou  may’st  couple  thy  name  with  high  renown, 

And  send  it  to  future  ages  down, 

And  men  yet  unborn  may  applaud  the  tale  : 

But  what  will  their  plaudits  to  thee  avail, 

When  thy  form  shall  be  mould’ring  amongst  the  dead, 
And  thy  soul  to  the  last  great  audit  fled  ? 

Then  what  is  thy  hope  ?  Consider  how  high 
Is  thy  destiny,  think  on  the  worth 

Of  a  soul  that  is  born  for  eternity, 

Though  it  sojourn  awhile  upon  earth. 

Oh  !  why  are  the  views  of  immortals  confin’d 
To  narrower  limits  than  heaven  assign’d  ? 

Why,  when  form’d  to  exist  in  a  happier  sphere, 
Should  we  bury  our  expectations  here , 

And  vainly  seek  for  substantial  good 
In  a  world  of  unceasing  vicissitude  ? 

What  is  thy  hope?  Will  it  stand  the  test 
Of  nature’s  expiring  hour? 

Like  armour  of  proof  will  it  shield  thy  breast 
Against  the  grim  tyrant’s  power  ? 


WHAT  IS  THY  HOPE. 


25 


Will  it  gladden  thy  soul  and  dispel  the  gloom, 

The  horror  of  darkness  that  veils  the  tomb, 

When  the  damps  of  death  to  thy  brows  shall  start, 
And  the  life-blood  ebbs  from  thy  freezing  heart? — 
Away  with  it  else  ! — it  is  worse  than  vain 
To  cherish  a  hope  that  shall  fail  thee  then  ! 

But  hope  thou  in  God !  To  a  dying  hour 
This  hope  sweet  assurance  brings, 

When  worldly  preferments  and  wealth  and  power 
Shall  all  be  forgotten  things. 

Aye,  hope  thou  in  God,  though  a  feeble  worm : 

And  thy  soul  shall  be  safe,  and  thy  confidence  firm — 
Thou  shalt  traverse  in  triumph  the  gloomy  abyss 
Which  divides  the  eternal  world  from  this — 

And  consigning  in  hope  thy  frail  flesh  to  the  sod, 

Thy  soul  shall  ascend  to  thy  Saviour  and  God. 

S.  S.  C. 


Newport,  R.  I. 


26 


RELIGIOUS  SOUVENIR. 


THE  PASSING  BELL.* 


There’s  solemn  warning  in  thy  voice, 
Thou  deep-toned  bell, 

That  on  a  thousand  reckless  ears 
Pour’st  thy  sad  knell. 

Thou  tell’st  life’s  pilgrimage  is  o’er 
With  some  lov’d  one, 

Whose  struggling  soul  hath  pass’d  away 
With  yonder  sun. 

There  is  a  sound  of  woe  and  wail 
In  thy  deep  tone, 

Proclaiming  sweet  affections  crush’d, 
Fond  hopes  o’erthrown. 


*  In  many  parts  of  our  country,  it  is  the  practice  to  toll  the  bell 
of  the  church,  either  on  the  death  or  at  the  funeral  of  those  who 
die. 


THE  PASSING  BELL. 


27 


Oh  now  how  many  tender  ties, 

That  twin’d  the  heart 

In  sacred  ligaments  of  love, 

Are  rent  apart ! 

How  many  now  in  bitterness 
Of  anguish  weep, 

Echoing  back  thy  notes  with  sobs 
1  Not  loud,  but  deep  !’ — 

There  is  a  warning  in  thy  voice 
Solemn  indeed, 

When  for  their  souls  with  dying  men 
Thou  seem’st  to  plead. 

Awful,  yet  plaintively,  to  me 
Comes  thy  deep  toll, 

As  if  the  parted  spirit’s  voice 
Spake  to  my  soul. 

“  Mortals  !”  it  cries,  “  life’s  chequered  scenes 
My  feet  have  trod, 

I  go  to  appear  before  the  throne 
And  bar  of  God. 


28 


RELIGIOUS  SOUVENIR. 


“  My  actions  are  seal’d  up,  my  term 
Of  trial  o’er, 

No  farther  space  for  penitence 
Is  given  me  more. 

“  Oh !  that  the  knell  which  now  proclaims 
A  brother  dead, 

Might  rouse  reflection,  ere  your  days 
Like  mine  are  fled  ! 

“  Bethink  ye  of  the  mortal  pangs 
Of  that  dread  hour, 

When  ye  will  shrink,  yet  cannot  fly 
From  death’s  fell  power. 

“Ye  votaries  of  the  world,  who  sport 
On  the  grave’s  brink, 

From  your  besotted  revelries 
Awake  !  and  think ! 

u  Time  flies  ! — your  measur’d  moments  all 
Sweep  swiftly  by, 

A  dread  eternity  draws  on, 

And  ye  must  die  !” 


THE  PASSING  BELL. 


29 


Such  are  the  solemn  thoughts  thou  wak’st, 
Mournful  death-bell, 

As  sullenly  on  the  still  air 
Floats  thy  sad  knell. 

S.  S.  C. 

Newport,  R.  I. 


c 


30 


RELIGIOUS  SOUVENIR. 


ALPINE  MASTIFFS,  OR  THE  DOGS 
OF  SAINT  BERNARD. 


Illustrative  of  the  Providence  of  God. 


Where  shall  we  look,  and  not  see  the  providence  of 
God  displayed  ? 

Of  the  quadrupedal  portion  of  creation,  the  dog  is 
pre-eminently  the  sympathising  companion  and  at¬ 
tached  friend  of  man.  The  sincerity  of  his  fidelity, 
who  has  distrusted?  His  generous  devotion  to  the 
pleasures  and  wishes  of  his  master,  what  ill-usage 
can  repress — what  kind  treatment  overpay  ?  Or  who 
shall  say  that  the  arts  which  adorn  social  life  are 
unworthily  or  unwisely  employed  in  asserting  the 
claims  to  human  regard,  and  even  to  human  grati¬ 
tude,  of  a  noble  creature,  to  whom,  if  the  faculty  of 
speech  has  been  denied,  other  modes  of  acquiring 


ALPINE  MASTIFFS. 


31 


and  exerting  pleasurable  impulse,  benevolent  motive, 
efficient  power,  and  sagacious  conduct,  have  been 
freely  and  abundantly  imparted,  so  as  to  vindicate  at 
once  the  divine  dispensations,  and  the  various  relations 
of  the  comprehensive  system  of  Providence.  Doubt¬ 
less  the  eminent  services  and  the  delight  which  we 
derive  from  the  canine  race,  are  earthly  blessings 
from  the  bounty  of  the  great  Parent  and  Author  of 
.universal  existence. 

The  superb  Alpine  mastiffs  which  we  have  essayed 
to  represent,  and  who  reside  in  considerable  numbers 
with  the  hospitable  monks  of  the  Great  Saint  Bernard, 
are  not  merely  a  credit  to  their  kind,  but  not  un¬ 
worthy  of  being  classed  with  the  most  interesting  and 
grand  of  Nature’s  productions.  Alas  !  our  philosophy 
seldom  rises  above  our  egotism.  If  their  moral  and 
social  value  may  be  estimated  by  the  lively  concern 
which  these  animals  evince,  and  the  severe  hardships 
which  they  willingly  or  dutifully  endure,  for  the  sake 
of  suffering  humanity,  no  created  thing  whatever 
should  rank  higher  in  our  esteem.  Native,  if  not 
aboriginal,  inhabitants  of  the  higher  regions  of  the 
Pennine  Alps;  inured  to  the  rigours  of  eternal  winter; 
trained,  taught  and  fed,  by  the  benevolent  monks  of 
the  hospitium  or  monastery,  which  religion  has 
taught  philanthropy  to  plant,  about  eight  thousand 


32 


RELIGIOUS  SOUVENIR. 


two  hundred  English  feet  above  the  level  of  the  sea, 
and  near  the  summit  of  that  lofty  ridge,  the  road 
across  which  is  now  become  the  principal  pass  to  the 
plains  of  Italy  from  the  valley  of  the  Rhone — they 
issue  forth  from  the  comforts  of  its  ever-cheering  fire 
side,  generally  in  couples,  following  the  track  of  the 
raging  or  drifting  snow-storm,  or  the  desolating 
avalanche,  as  other  dogs  follow  the  scent  of  game,  or 
the  exhilarating  joys  of  the  chase.  They  are  the  . 
living  life-boats  of  these  dreadful,  desolate  and  tem¬ 
pestuous  regions,  the  sole  object  of  their  constant 
solicitude  being  to  discover  and  rescue  whatever 
travellers  may  have  been  overtaken  and  overwhelmed 
by  these  sweeping  elements  of  destruction. 

But  this  benevolent  employment  of  these  eminently 
useful  creatures,  as  I  am  informed  by  the  senior  Mr 
Colnaghi,  who  has  frequently  passed  the  Alps,  and 
by  various  routes,  is  by  no  means  locally  restricted  to 
the  pass  of  Saint  Bernard.  They  are  also  cherished 
and  their  services  appreciated,  at  Mount  Cenis, 
the  Simplon,  Saint  Gothard,  and  along  the  whole 
Alpine  range.  We  are  therefore,  probably,  justified 
in  deeming  them  aborigines.  Indeed,  all  the  larger 
and  stronger  races  of  dogs  would  appear  to  have  origin¬ 
ally  proceeded  from  the  colder  regions  of  the  earth. 

Captain  T.  Brown,  of  Edinburgh,  in  his  very  in- 


ALPINE  MASTIFFS. 


33 


teresting  £  Biographical  Sketches  and  Anecdotes  of 
Dogs/  terms  these  animals  1  Alpine  spaniels  whether 
with  technic  propriety,  I  am  not  able  to  decide.  All 
other  writers  call  them  mastiffs.  He  says,  that ‘  in  point 
of  intelligence  the  Alpine  spaniel  may  be  reckoned 
about  equal  to  any  of  the  species,  and  has  the  greatest 
aptitude  for  learning  any  thing  to  which  he  may  be 
trained.  He  is  peculiarly  adapted  to  those  stormy 
regions,  the  Swiss  Alps;  and  Providence,  in  the 
wisdom  of  its  arrangements,  seems  to  have  placed 
him  where  he  was  to  be  the  most  serviceable  to  man¬ 
kind.  By  marks  in  the  snow,  but  principally  by 
the  scent  formed  from  the  breath  of  the  persons  w7ho 
may  have  fallen  into  pits  or  been  overwhelmed,  they 
discover  the  buried  traveller.’  As  depicted  in  our 
engraving,  when  the  dogs  are  sent  forth  on  their 
humane  mission,  one  of  them  has  a  flask  or  small  keg 
of  brandy  suspended  from  his  collar ;  the  other  has 
signal  bells,  by  means  of  which  the  monks  are  con¬ 
ducted  to  the  particular  spot  where  their  services 
may  be  needed,  and  is  also  provided  with  a  sufficient 
quantity  of  warm,  woollen  drapery,  which  is  wrapped 
and  buckled  round  his  body,  and  in  which  the  shiver¬ 
ing  sufferer,  if  able,  may  enwrap  himself.  Less 
influenced  than  man  by  apprehended  dangers,  and 
better  fitted  by  their  gigantic  strength  and  vigorous 


34 


RELIGIOUS  SOUVENIR. 


constitution  to  encounter  the  real  hazards  of  these 
elevated  and  inhospitable  regions,  the  Alpine  dogs 
exert  themselves  with  as  undaunted  resolution  and 
perseverance  to  save,  as  the  wilder  quadrupeds  to 
destroy.  In  truth,  the  courage  that  might  be  stigma¬ 
tised  as  temerity,  and  the  spirit  of  romantic  daring 
that  in  man,  when  intent  on  his  more  sublime 
purposes,  is  reckless  of  peril,  appears  in  these  ma¬ 
jestic  mastiffs  as  if  it  were  both  urged  and  bridled 
by  a  superior  power — by  a  power  which,  while  it 
admits  not  the  influence  of  that  soul-felt  virtuous 
enthusiasm,  which  in  a  noble  cause  is  careless  or 
disdainful  of  self-preservation,  or  that  heroic  love  of 
a  glorious  perpetuity  which  shall  reach  beyond  the 
grave,  is  yet  bold,  generous  and  exemplary  in  its 
obedience  to  the  calls  of  duty. 

1  There  is,’  says  Mr  Brockedon,  ‘  no  passage  of 
the  Alps  which  affords  to  the  traveller  greater  plea¬ 
sure,  either  in  the  enjoyment  or  the  recollection  of 
his  journey  to  Italy,  than  that  by  the  great  Saint 
Bernard;  for,  besides  the  wildness  of  this  Alpine  pass, 
and  the  beauty  of  the  valley  of  Aosta,  through  which 
the  road  to  Turin  continues  after  it  leaves  the  moun¬ 
tains,  the  kind  reception  which  he  experiences  from 
the  religious  community  at  the  hospice,  on  the 
summit  of  Saint  Bernard,  is  remembered  as  long  as 


ALPINE  MASTIFFS. 


35 


he  can  be  grateful  for  the  devotion  which  induces 
these  excellent  men  to  offer  to  the  traveller  their 
welcome,  and  spread  for  him  their  hospitality  in  the 
wilderness. 

1  Beyond  the  village  or  bourg  of  Saint  Pierre, 
the  scenery  assumes  a  character  of  savage  grandeur; 
and  through  the  forest,  named  after  this  saint,  the 
path  winds  among  old  pines  and  larches,  and  over 
and  between  rocks  which  prohibit  all  means  of  passing, 
except  to  the  foot  of  the  traveller  or  his  mule;  and 
beyond  the  forest  the  plain  of  Prou  is  seen  bounded 
by  lofty  mountains,  glaciers,  and  that  highest  peak  of 
the  Saint  Bernard,  the  Mount  Velan;  the  river  passes 
at  too  great  a  depth  beneath  the  level  of  the  traveller’s 
feet  to  be  heard,  and  the  whole  scene  is  silent  and 
desolate. 

{  Beyond  the  plain  of  Prou  the  acclivity  is  ascended 
by  a  steep  and  dangerous  path,  where  the  traveller  is 
exposed  to  avalanches  during  the  winter  and  spring. 
It  is  here  that  many  of  the  victims  to  the  storms  of 
these  regions  are  found,  and  two  chalets  have  been 
built;  the  one  to  shelter  the  living,  the  other  as  a 
receptacle  for  the  dead.  These  chalets  are  called 
Vhopital.  This  spot  is  regularly  visited  in  the  dange¬ 
rous  season  by  the  brethren  of  the  convent,  their 
servants,  or  their  dogs,  to  search  for  and  assist  un- 


36 


RELIGIOUS  SOUVENIR. 


fortunate  travellers,  and  to  leave  some  refreshment  at 
one  of  the  chalets. 

‘  Before  arriving  at  the  convent,  the  traveller 
recrosses  the  river  (or  rather  mountain  stream)  on 
the  Pont  de  Nudri,  and  then,  ascending  by  an  abrupt 
path,  traverses  a  bed  of  snow  which  few  summer 
seasons  are  favourable  enough  to  melt.  Here  the  roof 
of  the  convent  is  visible,  and  in  ten  minutes  he  re¬ 
ceives  the  cheerful  and  welcome  reception  of  the 
monks  of  Saint  Bernard  at  their  dwelling  in  the 
clouds,  where  they  exercise  a  general  hospitality  , 
without  regard  to  the  religion  or  country  of  those 
whom  they  assist,  and  voluntarily  engage  themselves, 
by  vow,  to  devote  their  lives  to  the  succour  of  those 
who  traverse  the  desert  which  they  inhabit.  The 
convent  is  massive,  strong,  and  adapted  to  its  perilous 
situation,  on  the  very  crest  of  the  passage,  where  it  is 
exposed  to  tremendous  storms  from  the  north-east  and 
south-west;  in  other  directions  it  is  sheltered  by  the 
mountains  Chenellitaz  and  Mont-mort — for  the  name 
of  Saint  Bernard,  like  that  of  the  Saint  Gothard,  is 
given  to  the  passage,  and  not  to  any  particular 
mountain. 

‘  Visitors  universally  acknowledge  the  kind  and 
courteous  attention  which  they  receive  from  these 
excellent  men,  particularly  at  table ;  they  are  freely 


ALPINE  MASTIFFS. 


37 


communicative  respecting  their  establishment,  and 
conversation  has  no  restraint  but  in  the  respect 
which  their  characters  demand.  The  language  used 
by  them  is  French,  though  there  are  Italians  and 
Germans  among  them.  They  are  well  informed  upon 
most  subjects,  and  intelligent  upon  those  in  which 
their  situation  has  been  favourable  to  their  acquiring- 
information.  The  periodical  works  of  some  academic 
bodies  and  institutions  are  sent  to  them,  and  the}r 
have  a  small  library,  which  is  chiefly  theological. 
During  their  short  summer,  their  intercourse  with 
well-informed  travellers  is  extensive:  this  gives  to 
their  inquiries  a  propriety,  and  an  apparent  interest 
in  the  affairs  of  the  world. 

1  Under  every  circumstance  in  which  it  is  possible 
to  render  assistance,  the  worthy  religieux  of  Saint 
Bernard  set  out  upon  their  fearful  duty,  unawed  by 
the  storm,  and  obeying  a  higher  power ;  they  seek  the 
exhausted  or  overwhelmed  traveller,  generally  ac¬ 
companied  by  their  dogs,  whose  sagacity  will  often 
detect  the  victim  though  buried  in  the  snow.  The 
dogs,  also,  as  if  conscious  of  a  high  duty,  will  roam 
alone  through  the  day  and  night  in  these  desolate 
regions,  and  if  they  discover  an  exhausted  traveller, 
will  lie  on  him  to  impart  warmth,  and  bark  and  howl 
for  assistance.’ 


38 


RELIGIOUS  SOUVENIR. 


The  philosophical  writers  of  the  1  Library  of  Enter¬ 
taining  Knowledge’  go  farther  on  this  part  of  the 
subject  than  our  author.  They  tell  at  what  depth  the 
dogs  are  enabled  to  discover  the  snow  buried  sufferer. 
They  do  not  name  their  authority,  and  the  fact  which 
they  have  recorded  is  scarcely  credible;  but  their 
language  is  impressive,  and  we  cite  the  passage;  for 
though  themselves  are,  as  we  presume  to  think  they 
ought  not  to  be,  anonymous,  the  auspices  which 
usher  their  writings  to  public  notice  are  of  the  first 
respectability. 

‘  Most  remarkably  are  the  monks  assisted  in  their 
truly  Christian  offices.  They  have  a  breed  of  noble 
dogs  in  their  establishment,  whose  extraordinary 
sagacity  often  enables  them  to  rescue  the  traveller 
from  destruction.  Benumbed  with  cold,  weary  in  the 
search  for  a  lost  track,  his  senses  yielding  to  the 
stupifying  influence  of  frost,  which  betrays  the  ex¬ 
hausted  sufferer  into  a  deep  sleep,  the  unhappy  man 
sinks  upon  the  ground,  and  the  snow-drift  covers  him 
from  human  sight.  It  is  then  that  the  keen  scent  and 
the  exquisite  docility  of  these  admirable  dogs  are 
called  into  action.  Though  the  perishing  man  lie  ten, 
or  even  twenty  feet  beneath  the  snow,  the  delicacy  of 
smell  with  which  they  can  trace  him,  offers  a  chance 
of  resuscitation.  They  scratch  away  the  snow  with 


ALPINE  MASTIFFS. 


39 


their  feet;  they  set  up  a  continued  hoarse  and  solemn 
bark,  which  brings  the  monks  and  labourers  of  the 
convent  to  their  assistance.’ 

As  far  as  respects  the  dogs,  the  reader  will  readily 
trace  enough  of  resemblance  between  these  written 
descriptions  proceeding  from  different  pens,  of  a 
frequent  natural  occurrence,  and  our  engraved  repre¬ 
sentation  of  a  similar  incident,  but  the  addition  of  a 
word  or  two  concerning  our  overwhelmed  traveller 
may  probably  not  be  thought  irrelevant.  It  is  intended 
that  a  student  in  science  should  be  recognised ,  since 
human  suffering  becomes  more  pathetic  and  affecting 
when  combined  with  merit.  He  is,  therefore,  a 
naturalist.  As  no  vegetable  production,  save  the 
rhododendron,  finds  rootage  and  sustenance  in  these 
rocky  and  frozen  regions,  the  reflecting  reader  is 
more  likely  to  construe  him  to  be  a  mineralogist  than 
a  botanist,  who,  protected  by  gloves  and  a  vest  of  fur, 
and  a  cap  of  velvet,  has  been  roaming  alone  among 
the  Appennines,  and  whose  pursuits  and  contemplations 
have  been  arrested  by  an  avalanche ,  or  a  tourmente. 
He  has  been  beaten  down  or  has  fallen;  the  chill 
death  sleep,  or  lethargic  stupor  has  seized  him :  and 
the  faithful  dogs  have  found  him.  They  have  evi¬ 
dently  been  for  some  short  period  of  time  at  their 
work  of  disinterment  and  resuscitation:  one  of  them 


40 


RELIGIOUS  SOUVENIR. 


is  sounding  forth  his  hoarse  and  solemn  bark,  to 
inform  their  masters  that  they  have  met  with  an 
adventure,  while  the  other  licks  the  hand,  and  stead¬ 
fastly  regards  the  eye  of  his  patient,  as  the  index  of 
returning  animation. 

Sir  Walter  Scott,  who,  whenever  a  dog  comes  in 
his  way,  always  treats  it  with  the  regardful  feeling  of 
a  friend  and  the  skilful  tact  of  a  connoisseur,  writes 
of  that  which  belongs  to  the  Lady  of  Avenel,  that, 

1  looking  in  her  eyes,  he  seemed  to  ask  her  what  she 
wanted, — or  what  he  could  do  to  show  his  attachment?’ 
Our  brindled  and  nearer  mastiff  has,  or  is  intended  to 
have,  a  certain  modification  of  this  expression.  Or 
perhaps  I  should  say,  he  looks  as  would  a  benevolent 
physician,  who  wishes  to  ascertain  and  longs  to  wit¬ 
ness,  the  good  effects  of  his  medicaments.  Can  this 
dog  feel  anxious  hope  ?  The  accomplished  naturalist 
will  not  quarrel  with  us,  if,  assuming  the  affirmative, 
we  should  add  our  own  hopes  that  the  spectator  will 
think  he  can,  and  does;  and  that  the  stark  and 
extended  student  will  revive  and  proceed  on  his  way 
rejoicing.  But  more  than  hope  is  not  meant  to  be 
indicated  ;  and  the  eyes  of  this  Alpine  race  of  dogs 
being  small  in  proportion  to  their  gigantic  bulk,  of 
course  do  not  admit  of  so  much  optical  expression 
as  if  they  had  been  larger;  though,  on  this  very 


ALPINE  MASTIFFS. 


41 


account,  they  are  better  suited  to  endure  the  arrowy 
sleet  of  the  mountain  storms,  and  the  white  glare  of 
the  snow.  In  the  back  ground,  at  different  distances, 
some  of  the  monks  and  their  domestics  are  seen 
hurrying  with  becoming  solicitude  toward  their  task 
of  charity.  To  proceed  with  our  citation — 

1  These  wonderful  exertions  are  often  successful, 
and  even  where  they  fail  of  restoring  him  who  has 
perished,  the  dogs  discover  the  body,  so  that  it  may 
be  secured  for  the  recognition  of  friends;  and  such  is 
the  effect  of  the  temperature,  that  the  dead  features 
generally  preserve  their  firmness  for  the  space  of  two 
years.’  The  Morgue  of  Saint  Bernard,  or  receptacle 
for  the  dead,  is  a  scene  of  melancholy  interest.  We 
again  have  recourse  to  Mr  Brockedon,  who  says, 
1  it  is  a  low  building,  a  few  yards  from  the  eastern 
extremity  of  the  convent,  where  the  bodies  of  the 
unfortunate  victims  to  storms  and  avalanches  in  these 
mountains,  have  been  placed.  They  have  generally 
been  found  frozen  and  put  into  this  horrid  receptacle 
in  the  attitude  in  which  they  perished.  Here  many 
have  dried  up  and  withered,  and  on  some  even  the 
clothes  have  remained  after  eighteen  years.  Among 
the  latest  victims  were  a  mother  and  child. 

‘  The  air  passed  freely  through  the  grated  windows 
without  bearing  to  the  nostrils  of  the  observer  the 


42 


RELIGIOUS  SOUVENIR. 


foul  evidence  of  its  transition  through  this  dreadful 
place.  From  the  rapid  evaporation  at  this  height,  the 
bodies  had  dried  without  the  usual  decay.  In  a 
walled  enclosure  on  one  side  of  the  Morgue ,  was  a 
great  accumulation  of  bones,  white,  broken,  and 
apparently  the  gathering  of  centuries.  Upon  this 
rocky  and  frozen  soil,  they  could  not  bury  the  dead, 
and,  probably,  as  they  dry  up  without  offence,  they 
are  placed  here  for  the  chance  of  recognition.  Some 
additions  to  this  sepulchre  are  annually  made,  for  the 
perilous  passage  by  this  route  during  the  winter  is 
more  frequently  undertaken  than  is  generally  ima¬ 
gined.  Many  are  prompted  by  the  necessity  or 
urgency  of  their  affairs  at  this  season,  to  traverse  the 
mountain :  they  are  generally  pedlars  and  smugglers, 
who  travel  in  defiance  of  storms  and  avalanches.  In 
these  high  regions  the  snow  forms  and  falls  in  small 
particles,  which  congeal  so  soon  and  so  hard,  that 
they  do  not  attach  and  form  flakes  in  descending,  and 
instead  of  consolidating  beneath  the  pressure  of  the 
feet  of  the  traveller,  the  snow  rises  around  him  like 
powder,  and  he  sinks  to  his  middle:  whirlwinds, 
called  tourvientes,  raise  the  snow  in  dust;  unable  then 
to  discover  his  path,  he  falls  over  some  precipice, 
or,  not  less  frequently,  into  some  obscure  and  un¬ 
suspected  pit.  The  avalanches  too  have  numerous 


ALPINE  MASTIFFS. 


43 


victims.  Those  of  spring  are  occasioned  by  the 
submeltinff  of  the  snow,  which  undermines  their 
support;  the  winter  avalanches  are  produced  by  the 
accumulations  of  snow  on  the  steep  sides  of  the  moun¬ 
tains,  which,  having  little  cohesion,  at  length  become 
heavy  enough  to  exceed  the  supporting  power,  when 
enormous  masses  slide  off  into  the  valleys  beneath 
with  a  suddenness  and  violence  which  the  prior  at 
the  convent  compared  to  the  discharge  of  a  cannon¬ 
ball;  these  render  the  approach  to  the  hospice,  particu¬ 
larly  on  the  side  of  the  Valais,  very  dangerous.’ 

4  Of  the  vertebrated  animals,  those  which  most 
easily  acquire  habits  from  man,  are  quadrupeds ;  and 
of  quadrupeds,  those  which  are  most  easily  modified 
are  the  species  which  belong  to  those  united  in  groups, 
naturally,  by  the  social  affection. 

4  The  senses  of  the  higher  quadrupeds,  such  as  the 
dog  and  the  horse,  are  the  instruments  by  which  man 
employs  them  for  his  use ;  and  he  renders  those  senses 
more  powerful  in  proportion  as  he  cultivates  the 
faculties  by  which  the  senses  are  disciplined.  The 
dog,  certainly,  has  the  greatest  sympathies  with  man 
of  all  the  race  of  quadrupeds ;  and  the  nearer  an 
animal  approaches  us,  and  the  more  easily  he  com¬ 
prehends  us,  the  more  we  are  enabled  to  modify  his 
nature  and  form  his  character. 


44 


RELIGIOUS  SOUVENIR. 


*  Almost  every  country  in  the  world  possesses  its 
different  kind  of  dog,  and  in  each  of  these  kinds  there 
are  essential  differences  of  character,  produced  by 
education.  The  Esquimaux  dog  draws  a  sledge  ;  the 
shepherd’s  dog  guards  a  flock ;  the  mastiff  protects  a 
a  house  ;  a  dog  very  similar  in  nature  worries  a  bull ; 
the  Spanish  blood-hound  hunts  the  naked  Indian  to 
the  death,  while  the  dog  of  Saint  Bernard  rescues 
the  perishing  man  at  the  risk  of  his  own  life. 

4  Why  is  this  ?  These  dogs  have  been  accustomed, 
partly  by  nature  and  partly  by  education,  to  regulate 
their  senses  by  the  exercise  of  attention  ;  to  condense 
their  faculties  for  the  service  in  which  they  are 
engaged  ;  to  direct  their  capabilities  to  the  one  object 
which  is  necessary  to  be  attained.  They  are  generally 
successful ;  and  their  success  offers  a  valuable  exam¬ 
ple  to  our  higher  faculties.’ 

If,  then,  the  dogs  of  the  Saint  Bernard  are  capable  of 
sharing  with  its  hospitable  monks,  and  with  the  philan- 
thropical  portion  of  mankind,  in  this  disinterested 
devotedness  to  duty ;  in  their  submissiveness  to  denial 
and  restraint; — surely  they  are  honestly  entitled  to, 
at  least,  their  earthly  meed  of  human  approbation, 
and  to  their  unsolicited  niche  in  the  graphic  temple 
of  fame:  surely  they  will  not  be  deemed  unworthy 
subjects  of  such  commemorative  and  exemplary 


ALPINE  MASTIFFS. 


45 


display  as  the  arts  of  poetry  and  painting  can  confer : 
surely  the  brilliant  imagination  and  the  pen  of  Rogers, 
and  the  pictorial  talents  of  Turner,  and  of  Ed  win  Land¬ 
seer,  need  not  blush,  but  may  rather  glory  in  having 
indulged  or  expanded  themselves  in  diffusing  the 
knowledge,  and  recording  the  virtues  of  the  hospitable 
fraternity  of  Saint  Bernard,  and  the  bold  obedience 
and  fearless  bearing  of  their  well-trained  and  dutiful 
dogs. 

Neither  religion  nor  ethics  denies  that  active 
benevolence  is  the  acme  of  moral  conduct  and  merit. 
If  there  be  any  thoroughly  established  maxim  of  con¬ 
duct,  it  is  the  favourite  aphorism  of  the  Abbe  Raynal, 
that  {  no  life  can  be  pleasing  to  God,  but  that  which 
is  useful  to  man.’ 

Having  treated,  to  the  extent  of  our  information 
and  of  our  present  occasion,  of  the  dogs  of  Saint  Ber¬ 
nard,  a  few  anecdotes  we  have  been  able  to  collect, 
will  not  be  unacceptable  to  the  reader. 

One  of  these  noble  creatures  was  decorated  with  a 
medal,  in  commemoration  of  his  having  saved  the 
lives  of  twenty-two  persons,  who,  but  for  his  strength 
and  sagacity,  must  have  perished.  Many  travellers 
who  have  crossed  the  passage  of  Saint  Bernard  since 
the  peace,  have  seen  this  dog,  and  have  heard,  around 
the  blazing  fire  of  the  monks,  the  stories  of  his  extra- 
D 


46 


RELIGIOUS  SOUVENIR. 


ordinary  adventures.  He  himself  perished  about  the 
year  1816,  in  an  attempt  to  convey  a  poor  traveller  to 
his  anxious  family.  The  Piedmontese  courier  arrived 
at  Saint  Bernard  in  a  very  stormy  season,  labouring 
to  make  his  way  to  the  little  village  of  Saint  Pierre, 
in  the  valley,  where  his  wife  and  children  dwelt. 
It  was  in  vain  that  the  monks  endeavoured  to 
check  his  resolution  to  reach  his  family.  They 
at  last  gave  him  two  guides,  each  of  whom  was 
accompanied  by  a  dog,  of  which  one  was  the  remark¬ 
able  animal  whose  services  had  been  so  valuable  to 
mankind.  Descending  from  the  convent,  they  were 
in  an  instant  overwhelmed  by  two  avalanches,  which 
came  thundering  down.  We  scarcely  know  whether 
to  regard  it  as  deepening  the  melancholy  catastrophe 
of  this  domestic  tragedy,  that  the  very  same  fatal 
calamity  overtook  the  family  of  the  poor  courier,  who 
were  toiling  up  the  mountain  in  the  hope  of  obtaining 
news  of  their  expected  parent.  They  all  perished. 

Captain  T.  Brown,  of  Edinburgh,  in  his  very 
interesting  1  Biographical  Sketches  and  Authentic 
Anecdotes  of  Dogs,’  has  related  an  affecting  story, 
which  the  reader  will  probably  be  best  pleased  to  see 
in  his  own  words.  1  A  German  almanack,’  he  says, 
*  contains  some  details  concerning  a  dog,  named  Barry, 
one  of  the  predecessors  of  those  which  lately  perished 


ALPINE  MASTIFFS. 


47 


amid  the  snow  of  the  Great  Saint  Bernard.  This 
intelligent  animal  served  the  hospital  of  that  mountain 
for  the  space  of  twelve  years,  during  which  time  he 
saved  the  lives  of  forty  individuals.  His  zeal  was 
indefatigable.  Whenever  the  mountain  was  envel¬ 
oped  in  fogs  and  snow,  he  set  out  in  search  of  lost 
travellers.  He  was  accustomed  to  run  barking  until 
he  lost  his  breath,  and  would  frequently  venture  on 
the  most  perilous  places.  When  he  found  his  strength 
was  insufficient  to  draw  from  the  snow  a  traveller 
benumbed  with  cold,  he  would  run  back  to  the  hospi¬ 
tal  in  search  of  the  monks.  One  day,  this  interesting 
animal  found  a  child  in  a  frozen  state,  between  the 
bridge  of  Dronaz  and  the  ice-house  of  Balsora;  he 
immediately  began  to  lick  him,  and  having  succeeded 
in  restoring  animation,  induced  the  child  to  tie  himself 
round  his  body  and  in  this  way  he  carried  the  poor 
little  creature  as  if  in  triumph  to  the  hospital.’  There 
is  a  French  engraving  of  this  incident,  the  inscription 
beneath  which  adds  the  distressing  information,  that 
the  boy’s  mother  had  been  destroyed  by  an  avalanche 
which  spared  her  son.  1  When  old  age  deprived 
Barry  of  strength,  the  prior  of  the  convent  pensioned 
him  at  Berne.  He  is  now  dead,  and  his  skin  stuffed, 
and  deposited  in  the  museum  of  that  town,  with  the 
little  flask  or  vial  in  which  he  carried  a  reviving 


48 


RELIGIOUS  SOUVENIR. 


cordial  for  the  distressed  travellers,  suspended  from 
his  neck.’ 

The  captain  records  another  anecdote,  which  I 
shall  somewhat  compress,  of  one  of  these  heroic  and 
discerning  quadrupeds,  who  appears  to  have  literally 
understood  his  master’s  words,  and  even  zealously  to 
have  adopted  his  resentful  feelings.  This  dog  was  in 
the  service  of  the  Count  de  Monte  Veccios,  a  veteran 
officer  whom  the  republic  of  Venice  had  neglected, 
and  who,  having  to  request  a  favour  of  his  superior  in 
command,  general  Morosini,  waited  upon  him  on 
the  morning  when,  by  appointment,  he  expected  the 
doge  to  partake  of  an  elegant  and  expensive  collation, 
the  preparations  for  which  were  then  on  the  table. 
The  favour  was  ungraciously  refused  :  and  as  the 
count  retired  from  his  audience  in  dudgeon,  he  patted 
his  dog  and  said,  in  the  Italian  language,  11  You  see, 
my  friend,  how  I  am  treated.”  As  soon  afterwards 
as  the  dog  observed  his  master  to  be  thoroughly  en¬ 
gaged  in  conversation,  he  took  the  opportunity  of 
stealing  back  to  the  saloon  of  the  haughty  general, 
and,  eluding  observation,  seized  hold  of  a  golden 
tassel  at  one  of  the  corners  of  a  superb  table-cloth; 
ran  forcibly  backward,  and  drew  it  after  him,  till  the 
ground  was  bestrewed  with  battered  plate,  and  broken 
porcelain,  glasses  and  confections. 


ALPINE  MASTIFFS. 


49 


Sometimes  the  members  or  domestics  of  the  con¬ 
vent  of  Saint  Bernard  have  fatally  suffered  in  their 
efforts  to  save  others.  On  the  17th  of  December 
1825,  three  of  these  domestics  with  two  dogs  descended 
to  the  vacherie  on  the  Piedmontese  side  of  the  moun¬ 
tain,  and  were  returning  with  a  traveller,  when  an 
avalanche  overwhelmed  them.  All  perished  except 
one  of  the  dogs,  which  escaped  by  its  prodigious 
strength,  after  having  been  thrown  over  and  over. 
Of  those  who  fatally  suffered,  none  were  found  until 
the  snow  of  the  avalanche  had  melted  in  the  ensuing 
summer,  when  the  first  was  discovered  on  the  4th  of 
June,  and  the  last  on  the  7th  of  July.  One  of  these 
unfortunates  was  Victor,  a  fine  old  domestic,  whom 
Mr  Brockedon,  from  whom  we  quote  this  anecdote, 
well  remembers  in  his  first  visit  to  the  convent  in 
1824. 

The  avalanche,  which  overwhelmed  poor  Victor 
and  his  unfortunate  companions,  descended  from  Mont 
Mort.  It  was  down  those  very  beds  of  snow — much 
more  extensive  in  May  (the  season  of  his  passage) 
than  at  other  times  of  the  year — that  Napoleon  slid 
with  his  soldiers;  boldly  following  the  example  of 
some  of  his  troops,  and  encouraging  the  army  which 
had  encountered  so  much  difficulty  and  danger  in  its 
march  across  these  Alps,  from  the  13th  to  the  20th  of 


50 


RELIGIOUS  SOUVENIR. 


May  1800,  when  such  an  attempt  was  fraught  with 
peculiar  danger,  from  the  exposure  of  the  army  to  the 
frequent  avalanches  of  the  spring  season.  The  pass¬ 
age  of  his  army,  under  such  circumstances,  with  its 
artillery  and  materiel,  is  one  of  the  most  stupendous 
military  events  on  record.  Under  the  direction  of 
general  Marmont,  who  commanded  the  artillery,  and 
Gassendi,  the  inspector  of  the  ordnance,  the  cannon 
were  dismounted  and  placed  in  hollow  trunks  of  trees, 
and  thus  dragged  up  the  steep  and  dangerous  ascents 
by  one  half  of  a  battalion,  while  the  other  half  carried 
their  own  and  their  comrades’  arms  and  accoutrements, 
with  provisions  for  five  days.  The  gun  carriages  and 
ammunition  wagons  were  taken  to  pieces,  placed  on 
mules,  and  thus  conveyed  across  the  mountain.  The 
soldiers  were  obliged  to  walk  in  single  file,  and  when 
the  head  of  a  column  rested,  it  checked  those  behind ; 
availing  themselves  of  the  halt,  the  soldiers  refreshed 
themselves  with  biscuits  steeped  in  melted  snow ;  then 
again  advancing,  they  beguiled  their  labour  and  re¬ 
newed  their  energies  under  the  inspiration  of  national 
songs;  combining  hilarity  with  patient  endurance. 

The  following  anecdote  is  from  Latrobe.  1  The 
largest  of  their  dogs,  Jupiter,  was  the  general  favourite, 
at  the  time  of  my  visit,  as  the  most  sagacious  and  use¬ 
ful  of  the  race.  He  had  saved  the  lives  of  a  woman 


ALPINE  MASTIFFS. 


51 


and  child  a  short  time  before.  It  appears,  that  he 
knew  some  one  had  passed  the  hospital,  and  set  off 
habitually,  or  stimulated  by  his  lofty  and  exemplary 
sense  of  duty,  to  see  who  it  was.  His  absence  was 
observed  by  one  of  the  servants,  who  followed  his 
trail,  and  found  him  posted  over  the  drift  where  the 
poor  woman  and  child  were  about  to  perish.’ 

The  various  species  of  dogs,  say  the  naturalists, 
although  so  numerous,  1  are  but  varieties  of  the  same 
animal;  their  generic  characteristics  being  in  all  cases 
the  same.’  Their  differences,  however,  of  dimension 
and  form  (putting  colour  out  of  the  question)  are  so 
great,  as  to  warrant  our  belief  in  their  different  races. 

All  the  larger  and  stronger  species  of  dogs  would 
appear  to  have  proceeded  from  the  colder  regions  of 
the  earth. 

The  Alpine  mastiffs  resemble  the  dogs  of  New¬ 
foundland,  but  are  somewhat  more  bluff-headed. 
Like  these,  a  considerable  quantity  of  long  hair  or 
mane  keeps  their  neck  and  shoulders  warm;  and 
nature  has  supplied  them  with  semi-web  feet,  by 
means  of  which  they  readily  row  themselves  along, 
when  in  the  water. 

The  first  and  the  second  of  the  dogs  of  the  Saint  Ber- 
nard  breed,  which  arrived  in  England,  were  variegated 
with  fawn  or  cinnamon  colour,  and  white.  The  former 


52 


RELIGIOUS  SOUVENIR. 


had  already  distinguished  himself  by  rescuing  a  lady 
from  drowning,  after  his  arrival  in  England,  when  he 
was  somewhat  less  than  a  year  old.  His  length  at 
the  time,  including  his  tail,  was  six  feet  four  inches, 
and  his  height  measured  to  the  middle  of  his  back  two 
feet  seven  :  but  he  afterwards  became  the  property  of 
a  lady  at  Leasowe  Castle,  near  Liverpool,  where  he 
grew  considerably  larger.  I  never  heard  of  his  death; 
but,  as  it  is  fifteen  years  since  he  quitted  London,  he 
probably  exists  no  longer. 

The  second  which  arrived,  and  which  appears  in 
our  present  graphic  exhibition  standing  and  barking, 
while  his  feet  are  actively  employed  in  clearing  away 
the  snow,  wore  his  proper  costume  of  a  collar  lined 
with  black  fur,  embossed  by  some  Swiss  artist  with 
lions  and  sphinxes,  and  furnished  with  bells.  The 
nearer  and  sitting  dog,  who  is  so  intently  busied  on 
her  work  of  humanity,  was  a  female,  was  richly 
brindled,  in  patches,  partially  white,  and  was  some¬ 
what  older  and  larger  than  her  companion.  She 
became  the  property  of  Thomas  Christmas,  Esq.,  but 
the  change  from  her  early  habits,  and  from  the  ice 
and  snow  of  her  Alpine  birth  place  to  the  genial 
warmth  of  a  London  summer,  she  was  but  ill  able  to 
endure,  and  she  proved  but  short-lived. 

She  was  exceedingly  docile,  good  tempered,  and 


ALPINE  MASTIFFS. 


53 


fond  of  children,  though  somewhat  clumsy  in  her 
caresses  and  hilarious  gambols;  and,  while  meaning 
to  bear  herself  with  the  blandishment  and  gentle 
breeding  of  a  lap-dog,  would  knock  down  your  little 
daughter  with  licking  her  face  and  neck. 

In  eliciting  canine  attention,  and  inculcating  the 
performance  of  those  habitual  and  humane  duties  of 
which  we  have  been  discoursing,  it  appears  not  im¬ 
probable,  that  the  example  of  the  elder  dogs  may  have 
considerable  influence  on  the  motions  and  actions  of 
the  younger.  Mingling  itself  with  the  encouraging 
smiles  and  kind  expressions  of  their  benevolent  masters, 
there  can  be  no  doubt  that  this  would  effect  much: 
and  whatever  may  be  the  other  arts  of  training  and 
discipline  resorted  to,  the  instinctive  vigilance  which 
is  characteristic  of  the  mastiff  is  not  subdued,  nor  per¬ 
haps  impaired  by  it,  though  the  temper  and  manners 
are  softened  and  civilised.  When  Mr  Rogers,  on  his 
way  to  exchange  honours  with  the  classic  poets  and 
artists,  and  to  luxuriate  amid  the  romantic  and  inspir¬ 
ing  scenery  of  Italy,  crossed  the  Pennine  Alps,  he 
stopped,  like  ordinary  travellers,  to  refresh  himself  at 
the  monastery  of  Saint  Bernard;  and,  with  his  accus¬ 
tomed  habit  of  attention  to  passing  phenomena,  he 
approached  one  of  the  great  dogs,  which  was,  or 
appeared  to  be  asleep.  It  is  more  than  possible  that 


54 


RELIGIOUS  SOUVENIR. 


the  dog  was  not  asleep,  and  mistook  the  caution 
which  was  dictated  by  the  poet’s  desire  not  to  disturb 
him,  for  the  stealthy  approach  of  some  inferior  and  less 
friendly  mortal.  If  asleep,  some  slight  accident  sud¬ 
denly  awakened  him,  and  he  leaped  up  to  the  surprise 
of  the  musing  traveller,  and  seized  him  by  the  coat, 
little  dreaming  that  the  rapt  pilgrim  of  nature  was 
before  him,  who  was  destined  to  spread  through  both 
hemispheres,  and  transmit  to  posterity,  the  knowledge 
of  the  philanthropy  of  his  patrons,  and  the  fame  of 
his  own  eminently  useful  services.* 

*  This  article,  written  by  J.  Landseer,  F.  S.  A.,  accompanied 
the  original  picture  from  which  our  engraving  was  taken. 


55 


MY  MOTHER/ 


Oh  !  is  it  mine,  no  more  thy  care  to  prove, 

No  more  to  meet  those  looks  of  quenchless  love  ? 

Of  late  I  met  thee  with  a  fond  embrace, 

While  tears  coursed  down  the  smiles  upon  thy  face, 
Thou  wast  so  full  of  tenderness  and  joy, 

To  greet  again  thy  well-loved  wandering  boy: 

My  mother,  oh  !  my  mother,  art  thou  gone  ? 

A  pang  like  this,  my  heart  hath  never  known. 

How  little  thought  I  of  an  hour  like  this, 

When  on  my  lips  was  pressed  thy  parting  kiss ! — 
Thy  many  kindnesses  and  gentle  words 
Thrill  in  my  heart  among  its  deepest  chords, 

And  move  the  fountains  of  my  inmost  soul — 

I  seem  to  hear  thy  mournful  death-peal  toll; 

My  mother,  oh !  my  mother  !  What  on  earth 
Can  fill  the  place  of  her  who  gave  me  birth  ? 


56 


RELIGIOUS  SOUVENIR. 


Methinks  I  see  thee  in  yon  fields  of  light, 

With  harp  of  gold,  in  robes  of  purest  white, 

Attuning  praise.  Hark ! — It  was  but  the  moan 
Of  autumn  winds.  I  feel  myself  alone — 

Alone  on  earth,  with  none  to  love  like  thee ; 

A  love  so  pure,  so  deathless  and  so  free. 

My  mother,  oh  my  mother  :  from  thy  rest, 

Dost  thou  look  down  upon  thy  son  distressed^ 

Can  I  forget,  my  little  hand  in  thine, 

How  oft  we  walked  to  hear  the  truths  divine  ? 

Or  how  my  lisping  tongue  was  taught  to  pray 
With  every  rising  sun  and  closing  day  ? 

When  ’neath  thy  roof  it  was  my  lot  to  dwell, 

Too  oft  I  pained  thee,  I  remember  well : 

My  mother,  oh  !  my  mother  :  as  a  dart, 

Strikes  every  pain  I  gave  thee,  to  my  heart. 

Can  I  forget  that,  folded  to  thy  breast, 

My  tiny  form  oft  sunk  to  rosy  rest, 

Heeding  the  brook  which  murmured  by  the  door, 

Or  trees  that  waved  their  shadows  on  the  floor  ? 

On  thy  dear  bosom  laid  each  childish  grief, 

And  even  pain  and  sickness  felt  relief. 

My  mother,  oh  !  my  mother,  lifeless,  cold, 

They  say  thou  sleepest  beneath  the  church  yard  mould. 


MY  MOTHER. 


When  round  the  fireside  thy  lone  band  shall  meet, 
Or  at  the  table — ah  that  vacant  seat ! 

The  village  altar,  when,  with  solemn  air, 

The  pastor  feeds  his  flock  low  kneeling  there, 
Shall  mourn  thy  absence — 1  All  her  sins  forgiven, 
Our  sister,’  shall  he  say,  ‘  has  fled  to  heaven.’ 

My  mother,  oh !  my  mother,  o’er  thy  bier, 

There ’s  none  who  knew  thee,  but  will  drop  a  tear. 

Say,  when  disease  had  fastened  on  thy  frame, 

Was  I  remembered — didst  thou  call  the  name 
Of  him  who  then  was  from  thee  far  away  ? 

They  tell  me  thou  wast  often  heard  to  pray, 

In  tones  most  fervent,  1  Oh  !  my  absent  child, 
Guide  him,  dear  Saviour,  through  this  desert  wild. 
My  mother,  oh  !  my  mother,  it  was  kind, 

In  death’s  dark  vale,  to  call  me  thus  to  mind. 

Back  to  that  rural  spot  where  all  things  mourn, 
Perchance,  some  time  my  wandering  feet  will  turn 
Stand  by  thy  grave  and  weep,  and  mingle  tears 
With  his,  who  chose  thee  in  his  bloom  of  years, 
The  loved — the  honoured,  bowing  now  with  age, 
And  walking  tremblingly  o’er  life’s  last  stage. 

My  mother,  oh !  my  mother,  sad  and  lone 
His  weary  days  will  be,  now  thou  art  gone. 


58 


RELIGIOUS  SOUVENIR. 


Farewell ! — My  spirit  faints,  my  lyre  unstrung, 
Scarce  breathes  the  note  its  mournful  chords  among. 
Still,  though  I  see  thy  bark  moored  on  that  shore 
Where  rude  winds  sweep  and  tempests  rage  no  more — 
From  life’s  hard  warfare  though  thou  hast  release, 
And  heaven  has  sealed  thy  everlasting  peace  : 

Still  must  I  weep;  and  more  than  tongue  can  tell 
Do  feel,  to  bid  thee,  sainted  one,  farewell. 

E.  B. 

Stanton,  Va. 


59 


NIGHT. 

The  glittering  stars, 

By  the  deep  ear  of  meditation  heard, 

Still  in  their  midnight  watches  sing  of  Him. 

Thomson. 

I  love  thy  reign,  majestic  night! 

Thy  sweetly  solemn  hours, 

When  stars  pour  down  their  holy  light 
On  this  dark  world  of  ours; 

• 

As  if,  like  beacon-lights,  their  ray 
To  us  were  kindly  given, 

To  guide  our  thoughts  from  earth  away, 

And  point  our  hopes  to  heaven. 

Are  they  the  dwelling  place  of  those 
Who  here  on  earth  have  trod, 

The  path  which,  through  contempt  and  woes, 
Conducts  the  saints  to  God? — 


60 


RELIGIOUS  SOUVENIR. 


And  look  ye  from  those  radiant  spheres, 
Those  golden  realms  of  rest, 

Back  on  this  world  of  guilt  and  tears, 

Ye  spirits  of  the  bless’d? — 

The  day  is  joyous  with  its  songs, 

Its  sunbeams  and  its  flowers, 

But  mild  magnificence  belongs 
To  night’s  serener  hours. 

Upon  her  glittering  diadem, 

Blazoned  in  every  star, 

Shines  forth  the  glorious  name  of  Him 
Whose  handy- work  they  are. 

I  love  to  watch  their  radiant  course 
Across  the  deep  blue  sky, 

While  sullen  surges  murmur  hoarse, 

And  whispering  winds  reply — 

Winds,  that  like  spirit-voices  sound 
Amongst  the  swaying  woods, 

And  wake  a  thousand  echoes  round 
Our  mountain  solitudes. 


NIGHT. 


61 


Thee,  Lord,  they  praise !  each  wind  that  sweeps 
The  dark  woods,  and  the  sea, 

And  floods  from  their  unfathom’d  deeps 
Lift  up  their  voice  to  Thee. 

Monarch  of  majesty  and  might ! 

How  was  thy  power  displayed, 

When  yonder  firmament  of  light 
And  all  the  world  were  made  ! 

How  grand ! — how  beautiful  the  arch 
Of  night’s  unclouded  sky, 

When  countless  planets  hold  their  march, 

And  praise  Thee  silently ! 

The  day  is  joyous  with  its  songs, 

Its  sunbeams  and  its  flowers; 

But  high  and  holy  thought  belongs 
To  night’s  serener  hours. 

S.  S.  C.  , 

Newport,  R.  I. 

E  * 


62 


RELIGIOUS  SOUVENIR. 


SABBATH  EVENING  IN  THE  COUN¬ 
TRY. 

I’ve  seen  upon  the  city’s  bound 
The  sabbath  evening  close ; 

But  thoughtless  throngs  with  varied  sound 
Disturb’d  its  blest  repose  : — 

I’ve  mark’d  it  o’er  the  rural  scene 
Unfold  its  sheltering  wing  serene, 

While,  hush’d  to  concord  sweet, 

Breeze,  grove  and  dell,  and  stream  combin'd 
To  soothe  that  silence  of  the  mind 
Which  woos  the  Paraclete. 

I  stood  beside  a  lowly  dome, 

Where  peac«  and  love  abode, 

And  fragrant  through  that  cottage  home 
The  breath  of  summer  flow’d, — 


T)r,nm  7n-  R . WafuV .  EyUfrtnrZ tv  J.WSirJ ■ 


SABBATH  EVENING  IN  THE  COUNTRY.  63 

Fresh  flowerets  through  the  casement  peer’d, 

The  sleeping  dog  no  harshness  fear’d 
His  master’s  feet  beside, 

While  he,  in  true  contentment  blest, 

With  every  anxious  thought  at  rest, 

The  gathering  twilight  eyed. 

She  too,  his  friend  from  youth  to  age, 

The  dearest  and  the  best, 

Gave  to  his  ear  that  sacred  page 
On  which  their  hope  did  rest ; — 

The  aiding  glass  was  o’er  her  eye, 

And  from  her  cheek  the  roseate  die 
With  gayer  years  did  part, 

But  her  calm  brow  that  beauty  spake 
Which  time  more  exquisite  doth  make, 

The  beauty  of  the  heart. 

Fast  by  her  side,  with  blooming  face, 

Her  gentle  daughter  rose, 

Nurtur’d  in  all  the  simple  grace 
Which  pious  care  bestows. 

Maiden  ! — thou  hear’st  that  word  whose  power 
Can  give  thee,  for  thy  trial  hour, 

Strength  when  the  heart  doth  bow, 

Peace  though  the  stricken  bosom  bleeds, 


64 


RELIGIOUS  SOUVENIR. 


Eternal  life  when  earth  recedes, — 
Oh !  learn  its  spirit  now. 


As  a  fond  mother’s  evening  kiss 
Doth  lull  her  weary  child, — 
Kind  nature  pour’d  a  smile  of  bliss 
Around  the  landscape  mild; 

But  though  in  love  to  all  she  spoke, 
Though  her  soft  tones  in  music  broke, 
Like  balm  her  breezes  stole, — 
Yet  nothing  seemed  of  joy  to  tell 
So  pure, — as  in  that  hallow’d  cell, 

The  Sabbath  of  the  soul. 


Hartford,  Ct. 


L.  H.  S. 


65 


THE  BLESSINGS  OF  ADVERSITY. 

Illustrated  by  the  History  of  Mr  IV. 

t 

Prosperity  is  that  condition  of  human  existence, 
which  most  covet;  but  uniform  experience  attests, 
that  it  more  frequently  injures  the  character  of  a 
Christian  than  improves  it.  It  creates  so  many 
sources  of  enjoyment,  that  he  is  in  danger  of  with¬ 
drawing  his  affections  from  things  unseen  and  eternal, 
to  those  which  are  visible  and  temporal:  for  ‘who 
are  so  likely  to  mind  earthly  things,  as  those  who 
abound  with  them  ?  Who  has  so  many  ties  to  life  ? 
No  condition,  indeed,  here  will  bear  any  comparison 
with  the  future  state  of  the  blessed ;  yet,  according  to 
our  present  views  and  feelings,  the  mansion,  and  the 
pleasant  scenery  around,  have  more  power  to  attract 
and  retain,  than  the  desolateness  of  the  poor  house. 
How  little  have  some  to  resign  ?  How  often  does  the 

o 

heart’s  bitterness  lead  them  to  sigh,  ‘  I  loathe  it,  I 


66 


RELIGIOUS  SOUVENIR. 


would  not  live  always’ — 1  Oh  that  I  had  wings  like  a 
dove,  for  then  would  I  flee  away  and  be  at  rest,  I 
would  haste  me  from  the  stormy  wind  and  tempest.’ 
What  uneasiness  have  others  to  excite  them  !  How 
much  have  they  to  give  up  !  How  deep  rooted  are 
they;  and  what  force  is  necessary  to  loosen  them 
from  their  position !’ 

And  though  prosperity  increases  their  obligations 
to  love  and  honour  God,  yet,  in  general,  by  making 
them  more  independent,  it  makes  them  more  un¬ 
grateful.  It  induces  a  conformity  to  the  habits  and 
customs  of  the  men  of  the  world ;  promotes  self- 
indulgence  ;  engenders  pride ;  damps  the  ardour  of 
zeal  for  the  universal  establishment  of  the  kingdom  of 
Christ;  and  by  the  extravagance  of  its  expenditure  in 
dress,  furniture,  recreations  and  the  various  depart¬ 
ments  of  domestic  economy,  it  leaves  but  a  very 
scanty  proportion  of  its  abundance  for  the  claims  of 
charity  and  religion.  Indeed,  we  rarely  see  a  pros¬ 
perous  Christian,  a  consistent  Christian;  and  though 
I  would  not  place  every  one  under  the  ban  of  the 
divine  displeasure  who  has  on  earth  a  goodly  heritage, 
yet,  I  often  deplore  the  unhallowed  influence  which  a 
state  of  prosperity  has  over  the  heir  of  immortality. 
If  it  does  not  always  corrupt  his  principles,  it  generally 
weakens  them ;  if  it  does  not  always  destroy  his  taste 


BLESSINGS  OF  ADVERSITY. 


67 


for  the  things  of  the  spirit,  it  usually  vitiates  it ;  and 
if  it  does  not  invariably  break  up  the  habits  of  private, 
and  social,  and  public  devotion,  it  generally  disturbs 
them  ;  and  hence  we  may  seldom  find  a  spiritually 
minded  Christian,  one  who  is  alive  to  the  powers  of 
the  world  to  come — intense  in  his  hungering  and 
thirsting  after  righteousness,  on  whom  prosperity 
smiles  from  the  beginning  to  the  ending  of  the  year. 

I  had  often  passed  a  neat  little  cottage  in  the 
suburbs  of  the  town,  but  was  not  conscious  that  I  had 
any  knowledge  of  its  inmates,  till  I  was  compelled 
one  evening  to  take  shelter  in  it,  from  the  fury  of  a 
tremendous  hail  storm.  When  talking  with  the  good 
woman,  whose  manners  and  style  of  conversation 
bespoke  a  high  degree  of  mental  cultivation,  I  seemed 
to  have  an  indistinct  recollection  of  her  form  and 
features ;  but  it  was  not  till  her  husband  entered  the 
room,  that  I  actually  recognised  her.  I  was  now  no 
less  astonished  than  gratified,  by  finding  myself  under 
the  roof  of  an  old  and  intimate  friend,  whom  I  had  not 
seen  for  many  years.  The  following  is  a  sketch  of 
his  history. 

Mr  W.,  when  our  intimacy  commenced,  was  just 
rising  into  notice,  as  a  young  man  of  superior  intel¬ 
ligence  and  piety ;  equally  distinguished  by  the 
suavity  of  his  manners,  and  the  amiability  of  his  dis- 


68 


RELIGIOUS  SOUVENIR. 


position.  He  held  an  important  station  of  trust  in  a 
large  wholesale  establishment;  and  stood  so  high  in 
the  estimation  of  the  firm,  that  when  he  went  into 
business  on  his  own  account,  they  very  generously 
assisted  him  by  a  loan  of  money  ;  allowing  him  also 
an  extension  of  credit  on  the  goods  which  he  pur¬ 
chased  of  them.  His  store  was  in  a  first  rate  situation, 
and  as  he  was  very  generally  respected,  his  business 
increased  with  a  rapidity  that  exceeded  his  most 
sanguine  expectations.  Having  now  occasion  for  a 
wife  to  manage  his  household  department,  and  the 
means  of  supporting  one,  he  made  an  offer  to  a  young 
lady  who  was  a  member  of  the  same  Christian  church 
with  himself,  and  whose  father,  on  the  day  of  their 
marriage,  presented  him  with  ten  thousand  dollars. 
This  union,  which  was  founded  on  the  basis  of 
reciprocal  attachment,  contributed  not  only  to  the 
increase  of  his  domestic  happiness,  but  his  relative 
respectability,  by  bringing  him  into  alliance  with 
families  which  stood  high  in  public  esteem  and  confi¬ 
dence.  But  alas  !  the  fatal  influence  of  prosperity  on 
his  spirit,  and  on  his  habits  of  devotion,  was  too  soon 
apparent;  and  in  process  of  time,  he  became  more 
eager  after  the  riches  of  earth,  than  the  glory  of 
immortality.  He  had  many  afflicting  visitations  of 
Providence  in  the  death  of  his  children,  and  in  his 


BLESSINGS  OF  ADVERSITY. 


69 


own  personal  indisposition ;  but  they  did  not  yield  the 
peaceable  fruits  of  righteousness,  because  he  was  too 
deeply  absorbed  in  his  secular  pursuits.  At  length, 
the  scene  was  suddenly  changed :  the  sun  of  his 
prosperity  went  down  while  it  was  yet  day;  the 
night  of  adversity  came  on;  and  he  became  involved 
in  difficulties  from  which  he  was  unable  to  recover 
himself.  Like  many  other  aspiring  persons,  he  was 
not  contented  with  the  regular  profits  of  his  retail 
business;  and,  therefore,  to  accumulate  a  fortune  with 
dispatch,  he  sallied  forth  into  the  wide  field  of  specu¬ 
lation.  The  success  which  attended  his  first  efforts  in 
this  hazardous  enterprize  encouraged  him  to  proceed ; 
but,  instead  of  realizing  the  gains  he  anticipated,  one 
tremendous  loss  succeeded  another,  till  he  was  reduced 
to  a  state  of  absolute  and  irretrievable  ruin.  He  was 
now  compelled  to  fall  back  into  more  private  life ;  and 
took  the  situation  of  collecting  clerk  to  the  firm  which 
he  served  before  he  entered  into  business  for  himself. 

“  I  am  not  surprised,  sir,”  he  said  to  me,  “at  the 
reverse  which  has  taken  place,  because  in  my  pros¬ 
perity  I  provoked  the  Lord  to  jealousy.  He  gave  me 
wealth,  and  though  I  did  not  bow  down  and  worship 
it,  yet  it  became  the  idol  of  my  attachment — alienating 
my  thoughts  and  affections  from  the  living  and  true 
God.” 


70 


RELIGIOUS  SOUVENIR. 


“  I  long  anticipated,”  added  Mrs  W.,  “  some 
severe  dispensation  of  providence,  because  the  trials 
with  which  we  were  exercised  in  the  loss  of  our 
children  produced  no  permanent  effect  on  our  minds. 
We  wept,  it  is  true,  when  they  left  us  and  were 
carried  to  the  grave ;  but,  instead  of  inquiring  into 
the  reason  why  our  living  comforts  were  smitten  by 
the  stroke  of  death,  we  were  as  eager  after  the  riches 
of  the  earth,  as  the  most  devoted  men  of  the  world.” 

“Yes,”  replied  Mr  W.,  “and  the  increase  of 
wealth,  instead  of  yielding  satisfaction,  merely  served 
to  inflame  the  passion  of  desire  after  more.” 

“  Then  I  presume,  while  you  were  under  the  en¬ 
snaring  influence  of  the  love  of  accumulation,  you 
neglected  to  cultivate  intimate  communion  with 
God.” 

“  We  never,  sir,  entirely  abandoned  the  habits  of 
devotion,  but  its  pure  and  heavenly  feelings  had 
long,  very  long,  been  annihilated  in  my  heart.” 

“  Then  I  presume  the  Sabbath  afforded  you  no 
enjoyment  ?” 

“  The  Sabbath,  sir,  was  to  me  in  general,  not  only 
a  dull,  but  very  painful  day.  I  could  not  abstain 
altogether  from  public  worship,  but  often  felt  inclined 
to  do  so,  because  the  faithful  ministry  of  our  pastor  at 
times  almost  drove  me  to  despair.” 


BLESSINGS  OF  ADVERSITY. 


71 


11  The  Sabbath  is  now,”  added  Mrs  W.,  “  our  best 
day — it  is  both  a  day  of  rest,  and  a  day  of  devotion.” 

“  Yes,”  said  Mr  W.,  “  the  scene  is  indeed  changed, 
and  though  the  change  has  been  attended  by  some 
distressing  circumstances,  yet  I  bless  God  that  he  has 
brought  it  about.” 

u  Then,  sir,  you  feel  no  disposition  to  murmur  ?” 

“Murmur!  no,  sir.  If  I  had  retained  my  fidelity 
to  God  in  the  days  of  my  prosperity ;  if  while  he  was 
enriching  me  with  the  wealth  of  earth,  I  had  still 
had  my  conversation  in  heaven,  I  might  have  been 
permitted  to  have  held  on  my  way  without  meeting 
the  evils  which  have  befallen  us ;  but  I  proved 
unfaithful  to  him,  became  vain  in  my  imagination, 
and  my  deceitful  heart  led  me  astray.  He  has,  by 
the  reverse  which  he  has  brought  to  pass,  shown  me 
my  folly,  my  guilt  and  danger ;  and  once  more 
brought  me  into  fellowship  with  himself.  We  have 
been  forced,  it  is  true,  out  of  our  rank  in  society,  we 
have  lost  a  large  fortune,  and  have  been  abased 
before  others  :  but  we  have  gained  by  our  losses, 
sweeter,  purer  and  more  durable  felicity,  than  the 
accumulation  of  wealth  ever  afforded ;  and  are  once 
more  permitted  to  take  our  station  amonst  the  sons  of 
God,  to  whom  he  gives  manifestations  of  his  favour 
which  are  withheld  from  those  who  mind  earthly 


72 


RELIGIOUS  SOUVENIR. 


things.  I  can  now  say,  1 1  know,  O  Lord,  that  thy 
judgments  are  right,  and  that  thou  in  faithfulness 
hast  afflicted  me.’  ” 

“  I  often  murmured  in  my  heart  against  him,”  said 
Mrs  W.,  u  for  removing  our  children  from  us  ;  but 
now  I  see  the  kindness  which  dictated  those  painful 
visitations  of  his  providence.  They  were  taken  from 
the  evil  to  come ;  and  we  are  undeservedly  relieved 
from  that  load  of  anxiety,  which  we  should  necessarity 
feel  if  we  had  a  large  family  to  support  with  our  com¬ 
paratively  scanty  means.” 

“  But  I  hope  your  means  are  sufficiently  ample  to 
enable  you  to  enjoy  the  comforts  of  life.” 

She  paused,  looked  steadfastly  on  her  husband  for 
a  few  seconds,  and  then  replied,  11  Our  means,  sir, 
are  more  than  sufficient  to  supply  our  actual  wants ; 
but  Mr  W.  thinks  it  his  duty  to  appropriate  a  portion 
of  his  income,  to  discharge  some  debts  which  he  feels 
bound  in  honour  to  pay.” 

“  Your  afflictions,  my  friends,  have  been  severe ; 
but  I  perceive,  from  the  tenor  of  your  remarks,  that 
they  have  increased  rather  than  destroyed  your 
mutual  happiness.” 

“  Yes,  sir,  they  have  been  severe.  When  I  first 
heard  of  my  husband’s  insolvency,  I  was  overwhelmed 
in  distress ;  and  no  tongue  can  describe  the  agony  I 


BLESSINGS  OF  ADVERSITY. 


73 


felt,  when  obliged  to  exchange  our  splendid  mansion 
for  this  humble  roof.  But,  sir,  now  I  see  the  end 
of  the  Lord  in  all  these  afflicting  dispensations ;  I  can 
say,  that  comparative  poverty  with  his  blessing,  is 
preferable  to  boundless  wealth  without  it. 

‘  Good  when  he  gives,  supremely  good, 

Nor  less  when  he  denies, 

E’en  crosses  from  his  sovereign  hand 
Are  blessings  in  disguise.’  ” 

“  Then  I  presume  you  do  not,  like  Lot’s  wife,  look 
back  with  regret  on  the  possessions  which  you  have 
been  obliged  to  resign,  coveting  their  repossession?” 

11 1  believe,  sir,  that  we  both  make  the  prayer  of 
Agur  our  own ;  and  beyond  this  our  desires  are  not 
extended.  ‘  Remove  far  from  me  vanity  and  lies ; 
give  me  neither  poverty  nor  riches  ;  feed  me  with  food 
convenient  for  me ;  lest  I  be  full  and  deny  thee,  and 
say,  Who  is  the  Lord  ;  or,, lest  I  be  poor  and  steal,  and 
take  the  name  of  my  God  in  vain.’  ” 

After  taking  tea  with  them,  and  promising  to  repeat 
my  visit,  the  storm  being  over,  I  retired,  meditating 
on  the  advantages  which  a  Christian  often  derives 
from  adversity.  ‘  In  the  review  of  my  own  varied 
intercourse  with  society,’  says  an  intelligent  au¬ 
thor,  ‘  I  confess  nothing  so  vividly  and  powerfully 
affects  me,  as  what  I  recollect  to  have  met  with 


74 


RELIGIOUS  SOUVENIR. 


from  pious  individuals,  exemplifying  the  spirit 
and  resources  of  Christianity  under  bodily  disease, 
and  the  losses  and  bereavements  and  disappoint¬ 
ments  of  life.  Oh,  when  I  have  visited  such  a 
martyr — such  a  witness  for  God ;  when  I  have  found 
him  standing  in  the  evil  day  like  a  rock  in  a  raging 
current  with  sunshine  on  its  brow ;  when  I  have 
observed  him  full  of  tribulation  in  the  world,  and  of 
peace  in  Christ ;  mourning  more  for  his  sins  than  his 
sorrows ;  afraid  of  dishonouring  his  profession  by 
impatience  and  unbelief;  more  concerned  to  have 
his  crosses  sanctified,  than  to  have  them  removed  : 
turning  a  tranquil  eye  towards  the  infliction,  and 
saying,  1  I  know,  O  Lord,  that  thy  judgments  are 
right,  and  that  thou  in  faithfulness  hast  afflicted  me’ 

— ‘  Just  and  true  are  all  thy  ways,  O  thou  King  of 

* 

saints’ — 1  He  hath  done  all  things  well:’  when  I  have 
witnessed  religion — and  I  have  witnessed  it — accom¬ 
plishing  achievements  like  these,  I  have  said  of  it,  1 1 
have  heard  of  thee  by  the  hearing  of  the  ear ;  but  now 
mine  eye  seeth  thee.’  ’ 

As  this  relation  may  fall  into  the  hands  of  some, 
whose  pleasant  things  have  been  laid  waste  by  the 
desolations  of  Providence,  I  would  urge  upon  them 
the  importance  of  ascertaining,  if  possible,  the  reason 
why  the  Lord  has  thus  afflicted  them.  Sometimes 


BLESSINGS  OF  ADVERSITY. 


75 


this  is  so  obvious  that  it  immediately  strikes  the  eye 
of  the  inquirer.  He  has  sinned,  and  his  own  wicked¬ 
ness  is  employed  to  correct  him.  The  objects  of  your 
lawful  affection  may  have  been  the  objects  of  your 
idolatrous  attachment ;  and  therefore  they  are  removed 
that  you  may  love  God  supremely.  You  may  have 
carried  your  diligence  in  business  to  such  an  extent, 
as  to  have  the  whole  of  your  time  so  absorbed  in 
attending  to  its  various  claims,  that  you  have  had 
none  left  for  meditation,  for  prayer,  for  the  house  of 
God  ;  and  therefore  you  have  been  permitted  to  form 
connections  with  parties  that  have  defrauded  you. 
You  have  possibly  calculated  with  two  much  confi¬ 
dence  on  the  attainment  of  a  high  degree  of  felicity, 
when  a  favourite  scheme  of  speculation  has  been 
accomplished  ;  but,  alas,  its  very  accomplishment  has 
entailed  misery  upon  you,  because  neither  in  its 
arrangement  nor  in  its  execution,  did  you  take  counsel 
from  above.  You  now  see  your  error,  while  suffering 
under  the  inflictions  which  it  has  brought  upon  you ; 
4  return  unto  the  Lord  thy  God,  for  thou  hast  fallen 
by  thine  iniquity.’ 

But  afflictions  are  not  always  to  be  viewed  as 
punishments  for  actual  sin;  as  they  are  frequently 
employed  to  prevent  its  commission.  The  great 
apostle  of  the  Gentiles  was  in  danger  of  becoming 


76 


RELIGIOUS  SOUVENIR. 


high-minded ;  but  the  Lord  was  pleased  to  guard  him 
against  it.  And  how  did  he  secure  him  ?  {  And  lest 

I  should  be  exalted  above  measure,  through  the  abun¬ 
dance  of  the  revelations,  there  was  given  to  me  a 
thorn  in  the  flesh,  the  messenger  of  Satan,  to  buffet 
me,  lest  I  should  be  exalted  above  measure.’  This 
affliction  was  so  severe,  that  ‘  he  besought  the  Lord 
thrice,  that  it  might  depart  from  him  but  no ;  the 
answer  was,  1  my  grace  is  sufficient  for  thee,  for  my 
strength  is  made  perfect  in  weakness.’  {  Ah,  Chris¬ 
tian,  if  you  could  see  things  as  they  really  are  in 
their  moral  relations,  how  many  of  your  sufferings 
might  be  explained  upon  this  principle.  You  have 
perhaps  examined  yourself :  and  though  you  have 
always  enough  in  your  general  unworthiness  and 
imperfections,  to  render  you  vulnerable  to  trouble,  yet 
you  have  been  able  to  discover  no  one  duty  that 
you  have  knowingly  omitted  ;  no  one  idol  that  you 
have  knowingly  adored.  But  the  case  was  this, — 
you  were  not  vain,  but  you  were  becoming  so ;  and  it 
was  needful  to  withdraw  the  adulation  and  the  incense 
in  time.  You  were  not  avaricious,  but  you  were 
becoming  so ;  and  it  was  necessary  to  lay  waste  the 
gain  which  made  you  think  of  accumulation.  You 
had  not  worshipped  the  creature  ; — but  the  growing 
fondness  would  soon  have  made  you  kneel,  had  not 


BLESSINGS  OF  ADVERSITY. 


77 


the  desire  of  your  eyes  been  taken  away  with  a 
stroke. 

1  We  are  little  aware  now  of  the  obligations  we  are 
under  for  our  preservation  to  the  goodness  of  God  ; 
and  the  reason  is,  because  the  preservation  which 
hinders  the  injury,  hinders  the  discovery.  But  there 
are  no  blessings  for  which  we  shall  be  more  thankful 
in  the  world  of  light,  than  preserving  mercies ;  and  we 
shall  then  perceive  that  the  greater  part  of  these  were 
administered  by  afflictions.  These  often  answered  the 
prayer,  ‘  and  lead  us  not  into  temptation,  but  deliver 
us  from  evil.’  These  checked  us  ;  but  it  was  when 
going  astray.’ 

Afflictions  are  sometimes  sent  to  call  into  exercise 
the  varied  principles  of  the  Christian  character ;  and 
thus  to  strengthen  them.  Hence  they  are  found  to 
promote  humility.  There  is  a  native  independence 
in  some  minds,  which  in  relation  to  man  is  a  high  and 
noble  virtue ;  but  in  relation  to  God,  is  a  daring  and 
presumptuous  sin.  When  one  is  made  rich,  and  the 
glory  of  his  house  is  increased,  he  is  apt  to  assume 
this  language  :  1  who  is  the  Lord  that  I  should  obey 
him  ?’  and  if  this  language  be  not  always  uttered  by 
the  lips,  the  principle  of  its  dictation  may  be  found 
lurking  in  the  heart.  It  must  be  removed,  and  the 
hand  of  adversity  is  employed  to  do  it.  Death  enters 
F 


78 


RELIGIOUS  SOUVENIR. 


the  dwelling  place  of  domestic  bliss,  and  turns  it  unto 
the  house  of  mourning :  the  imaginary  connection 
between  a  judicious  speculation  and  success  is  broken 
asunder  :  losses  and  disappointments  follow  each  other 
in  rapid  succession,  and  the  wreck  only  is  above  the 
waters,  and  that  is  in  danger  of  sinking.  The 
sufferer  is  roused  and  alarmed  :  he  begins  to  mistrust 
his  own  wisdom,  to  reproach  himself  for  confiding  in 
his  own  arm  of  strength ;  falls  down  humbled  and 
self  abased,  and  prays,  1  Lord,  save,  or  I  perish.’ 

They  call  faith  into  more  direct  and  vigorous 
exercise.  The  Christian  professes  to  believe,  that  if 
he  acknowledge  the  Lord  in  all  his  ways,  he  will 
direct  his  paths ;  but  when  all  things  move  on  in 
perfect  harmony  with  his  wishes  and  feelings,  his  faith 
remains  in  a  quiescent  state.  A  change  takes  place  : 
tribulation  and  anguish  are  come  upon  him,  and  he 
sees  no  way  of  escape.  Friends  are  either  powerless 
or  unfaithful :  it  is  with  him  the  hour  and  power  of 
darkness.  But  why  ?  That  faith  may,  in  this  darkened 
hour,  perform  her  perfect  work,  by  trusting,  for  sup¬ 
port,  for  deliverance,  or  for  the  harmonious  adjustment 
of  these  discordant  affairs,  in  God  alone,  who  ‘is  able 
to  do  exceeding  abundantly  above  all  that  we  ask  or 
think.’ 

And  can  the  Christian  ever  exercise  the  grace  of 


BLESSINGS  OF  ADVERSITY. 


79 


submission  unless  he  is  called  to  endure  the  chastening 
of  the  Lord?  or  the  grace  of  resignation,  unless  he  is 
required  to  surrender  some  of  the  objects  of  his  affec¬ 
tion  and  endearment?  He  often  prays,  ‘  thy  will  be 
done  on  earth  as  in  heaven,’  and  his  prayers  are 
answered  by  these  dispensations  of  Providence,  which 
give  him  an  opportunity  to  do  it,  or  endure  it. 

Afflictions  are  often  employed  to  moderate  our 
attachment  to  earth ;  and  towards  the  period  of  our 
departure,  they  sometimes  set  in  with  greater  violence 
to  wean  our  affections  entirely  from  it.  There  are 
some  who  may  repeat  with  great  propriety  the  follow¬ 
ing  verse — 

‘  Lord,  wliat  a  wretched  land  is  this, 

That  yields  us  no  supply ; 

No  cheering  fruit,  no  wholesome  trees, 

No  streams  of  living  joy 

and  we  can  easily  believe,  that  if  they  are  anticipating 
the  bliss  of  immortality  they  require  no  extra  dispen¬ 
sation  to  induce  them  to  long  for  its  possession.  But 
there  are  others  who  may  with  equal  propriety  quote 
the  language  of  the  Psalmist, 1  the  lines  are  fallen  unto 
me  in  pleasant  places;  yea,  I  have  a  goodly  heritage.’ 
They  abound  in  wealth ;  occupy  the  high  places  of 
distinction  ;  and  have  all  things  richly  to  enjoy  ;  and 
though  they  look  forward  to  a  superior  state  of  honour 


80 


RELIGIOUS  SOUVENIR. 


and  felicity  in  the  heavenly  world,  yet  it  often  re¬ 
quires  the  agency  of  affliction  to  loosen  and  untie 
the  cords  that  bind  them  to  earth.  Hence  there  is  a 
necessity  that  they  should  be  in  heaviness  through 
manifold  tribulations  at  sundry  times,  that  they  may 
listen  with  more  devout  attention  to  the  voice  of  the 
Lord,  speaking  to  them  from  the  cloud,  ‘arise  ye, 
and  depart ;  for  this  is  not  your  rest,  because  it  is 
polluted.’  And  when  the  hour  of  release  comes,  and 
they  are  just  entering  into  rest,  if  permitted  to  record 
their  testimony  to  the  divine  dispensation  towards 
them,  they  will  say,  Not  one  trial  too  many,  not  one 
too  severe.  ‘  For  I  reckon  that  the  sufferings  of  this 
present  time  are  not  worthy  to  be  compared  with  the 
glory  which  shall  be  revealed  in  us.’  ‘  For  our  light 
affliction,  which  is  but  for  a  moment,  worketh  for  us 
a  far  more  exceeding  and  eternal  weight  of  glory  ; 
while  we  look  not  at  the  things  which  are  seen,  but 
at  the  things  which  are  not  seen  ;  for  the  things 
which  are  seen  are  temporal,  but  the  things  which  are 
not  seen  are  eternal.’ 

M 


N. 


SACRED  LYRICS. 


* 


I. 

-S 

I  GIVE  THEE  ALL. 

I  give  thee  all,  I  can  no  more, 
Though  poor  the  offering  be  ; 

A  broken  spirit ’s  all  the  store 
That  sin  has  left  to  me. 

My  trembling  lip  but  half  reveals 
The  prayer  my  heart  would  tell: 
But  throes  my  panting  bosom  feels 
Thy  spirit  sees  full  well. 

Deep  in  despair  my  spirit  lies, 

And  sinking  clings  to  thee  : 


x  religious  souvenir. 

a  contrite  heart  wilt  thou  despise, 
Nor  stretch  one  hand  to  me? 

Then  take  my  heart,  I  can  no  more 
Though  poor  the  offering  be; 

At  thy  command,  my  only  store, 

Q  Lord  !  I  give  to  thee. 


II. 

THE  HARP  OF  JUDAH. 
Air.~  Gramachree. 

O  harp  !  that  once  in  Judah’s  hall, 
In  sweet  inspiring  strain, 
Entranced  the  fiery  soul  of  Saul, 
And  soothed  a  monarch’s  pain  ; 

How  oft,  when  o’er  my  earthly  joys 
Runs  ruin  s  ruthless  stream, 

I  welcome  thy  consoling  voice, 

Thy  heaven-directing  theme. 


SACRED  LYRICS. 


83 


Though  gone  the  hand  that  waked  thee  first, 
Though  closed  thy  minstrel’s  eye  ; 

And  those  who  caught  thy  early  burst 
Of  glory  are  not  nigh  : 

i 

Of  thee  no  string  is  broken  yet; 

Thy  deep  and  holy  tone 

Can  make  me  every  care  forget, 

And  dream  of  heaven  alone. 

O  harp!  if  Judah’s  shepherd  flung 
Such  charms  around  his  theme, 

When  o’er  time’s  distant  scenes  he  hung 
In  dim  prophetic  dream  ; 

What  now  thy  spell  if  David’s  hand 
Once  more  could  wake  thy  strains, 

And  tell  to  every  listening  land, 

‘  The  Lord  Immanuel  reigns?’ 

M - 


Philadelphia. 


84 


RELIGIOUS  SOUVENIR. 


THE  PATRIARCH.* 


Soon  after  my  entrance  upon  clerical  duties  in  the 
state  of  North  Carolina,  I  was  informed  of  an  isolated 
settlement,  at  a  considerable  distance  from  the  place 
of  my  residence.  Its  original  elements  were  emi¬ 
grants  from  New  England, — a  father  and  his  five  sons, 
who,  with  their  wives  and  little  children,  had,  about 
thirty  years  before,  become  sojourners  in  the  heart  of 

*  This  very  interesting  article  is,  in  every  particular,  true. 
The  incidents  occurred  in  North  Carolina,  hut  a  few  years  ago. 
The  relation  illustrates  what  may  be  accomplished,  by  the  bless¬ 
ing  of  God,  on  the  efforts  of  a  pious  head  of  a  family  to  keep 
alive  a  deep  sense  of  religion,  where  in  the  ways  of  Providence 
the  ministry  of  the  gospel  cannot  be  enjoyed.  The  story  will  be 
particularly  interesting  to  such  of  our  readers,  as  may  belong  to 
the  Episcopal  church ;  while  it  is  related  with  such  a  spirit  of 
genuine  Christian  love,  as  will  give  it  favour  in  the  eyes  of  all 
who  love  the  Lord. — Ed. 


THE  PATRIARCH. 


85 


one  of  the  deepest  Carolinian  solitudes.  They  pur¬ 
chased  a  tract  of  wild  land,  encircled  by  a  swamp. 
This  they  subjected  to  cultivation,  and  by  unremitting 
industry,  rendered  adequate  to  their  subsistence  and 
comfort.  The  sons,  and  the  sons’  sons,  had  in  their 
turn  become  the  fathers  of  families ;  so  that  the 
population  of  this  singular  spot  comprised  five  gene¬ 
rations.  They  were  said  to  constitute  a  peaceful  and 
virtuous  community,  with  a  government  purely 
patriarchal.  Secluded  from  the  privileges  of  public 
worship,  a  sense  of  religion,  influencing  the  heart 
and  conduct,  had  been  preserved  by  statedly  assem¬ 
bling  on  the  Sabbath,  and  reading  the  Scriptures  with 
the  liturgy  of  the  church  of  England.  The  pious 
ancestor  of  the  colony,  whose  years  now  surpassed 
fourscore,  had,  at  their  removal  to  this  hermitage, 
established  his  eldest  son  in  the  office  of  lay-reader. 
This  simple  ministration,  aided  by  holy  example,  had 
so  shared  the  blessing  of  heaven,  that  all  the  members 
of  this  miniature  commonwealth  held  fast  the  faith 
and  hope  of  the  gospel. 

I  was  desirous  of  visiting  this  peculiar  people,  and 
a  journey  into  that  section  of  the  state  furnished  an 
opportunity.  I  resolved  to  be  a  witness  of  their 
Sunday  devotions;  and,  with  the  dawn  of  that 
consecrated  day,  left  the  house  of  a  friend  where  I 


86 


RELIGIOUS  SOUVENIR. 


had  lodged,  and  who  furnished  the  requisite  direc¬ 
tions  for  my  solitary  and  circuitous  route.  The 
brightness  and  heat  of  summer  began  to  glow 
oppressively,  ere  I  turned  from  the  haunts  of  men, 
and  plunged  into  the  forest.  Towering  amid  shades 
which  almost  excluded  the  light  of  heaven,  rose  the 
majestic  pines,  the  glory  and  the  wealth  of  North 
Carolina.  Some,  like  the  palms,  those  princes  of  the 
east,  reared  a  proud  column  of  fifty  feet,  ere  the 
branches  shot  forth  their  bold,  heavenward  cone. 
With  their  dark  verdure  mingled  the  pale  and  beau¬ 
tiful  efflorescence  of  the  wild  poplar,  like  the  inter¬ 
lacing  of  sculpture  in  some  ancient  awe-inspiring 
temple,  while  thousands  of  birds,  from  those  dark,  cool 
arches,  poured  their  anthem  of  praise  to  the  Divine 
Architect. 

The  sun  was  high  in  the  heavens  when  I  arrived 
at  the  morass, — the  bulwark  which  nature  had  thrown 
around  this  little  city  of  the  desert.  Alighting,  I  led 
my  horse  over  the  rude  bridges  of  logs,  which  sur¬ 
mounted  the  pools  and  ravines,  until  we  found  our 
footing  rest  upon  firm  earth.  Soon,  a  large  expanse 
of  arable  land  became  visible,  and  wreaths  of  smoke 
came  lightly  curling  among  the  trees,  as  if  to  welcome 
the  stranger.  Then,  a  cluster  of  cottan-es  cheered  the 
eye.  They  were  so  contiguous,  that  the  blast  of  a  horn, 


THE  PATRIARCH. 


87 


or  even  the  call  of  a  shrill  voice,  might  convene  all  their 
inhabitants.  To  the  central  and  the  largest  building, 
I  directed  my  steps.  Approaching  the  open  window, 
I  heard  a  distinct  manly  voice,,  pronouncing  the 
solemn  invocation,  1  by  thine  agony  and  bloody 
sweat,  by  thy  cross  and  passion,  by  thy  precious  death 
and  burial,  by  thy  glorious  resurrection  and  ascension, 
and  by  the  coming  of  the  Holy  Ghost.’  The  response 
arose  fully  and  devoutly  in  the  deep  accents  of  man¬ 
hood,  blent  with  the  softer  tones  of  the  mother  and 
her  children.  Standing  motionless,  that  I  might  not 
disturb  the  worshippers,  I  had  a  fair  view  of  the 
lay-reader.  He  was  a  man  of  six  feet  in  height, 
muscular  and  well-proportioned,  with  a  head  beauti¬ 
fully  symmetrical,  from  whose  crown  time  had 
begun  to  shred  the  luxuriance  of  its  raven  locks. 
Unconscious  of  the  presence  of  a  stranger,  he  sup¬ 
posed  that  no  eye  regarded  him,  save  that  of  God. 
Kneeling  around  him,  were  his  1  brethren  according 
to  the  flesh,’  a  numerous  and  attentive  congregation. 
At  his  right  hand  was  the  Patriach ;  tall,  somewhat 
emaciated,  yet  not  bowed  with  years;  his  white  hair 
combed  smoothly  over  his  temples  and  slightly  curling 
on  his  neck.  Gathered  near  him  were  his  children 
and  his  children’s  children.  His  blood  was  in  the 


88 


RELIGIOUS  SOUVENIR. 


veins  of  almost  every  worshipper.  Mingling  with 
forms  that  evinced  the  ravages  of  time  and  toil,  were 
the  bright  locks  of  youth,  and  the  rosy  brow  of 
childhood  bowed  low  in  supplication.  Even  the 
infant  with  hushed  lip  regarded  a  scene  where  was  no 
wandering  glance.  Involuntarily  my  heart  said, 
1  shall  not  this  be  a  family  in  heaven  ?'  In  the  closing 
aspirations,  1  O  Lamb  of  God  !  that  takest  away  the 
sins  of  the  world,  have  mercy  upon  us,’  the  voice 
of  the  patriarch  was  heard  with  strong  and  affecting 
emphasis.  After  a  pause  of  silent  devotion,  all  arose 
from  their  knees,  and  I  entered  the  circle. 

“  I  am  a  minister  of  the  gospel  of  Jesus  Christ.  I 
come  to  bless  you  in  the  name  of  the  Lord.” 

The  ancient  patriarch,  grasping  my  hand,  gazed 
on  me  with  intense  earnestness.  A  welcome,  such 
as  words  have  never  uttered,  was  written  on  his 
brow. 

“  Thirty  and  two  years  has  my  dwelling  been  in 
this  forest;  yet,  until  now,  no  man  of  God  hath 
visited  us.  Praised  be  his  name,  who  hath  put  it  into 
thy  heart  to  seek  out  these  few  sheep  in  the  wilder¬ 
ness.  Secluded  as  we  are  from  the  privilege  of 
worshipping  God  in  his  temple,  we  thus  assemble 
every  Sabbath,  to  read  his  book,  and  to  pray  unto  him 


THE  PATRIARCH. 


89 


in  the  words  of  our  liturgy.  So,  have  we  been  pre¬ 
served  from  forgetting  the  Lord  who  bought  us,  and 
lightly  esteeming  the  rock  of  our  salvation.” 

The  exercises  of  that  day  are  indelibly  engraven 
upon  my  memory.  Are  they  not  written  in  the  record 
of  Heaven?  Surely  a  blessing  entered  into  my  own 
soul,  as  I  beheld  the  faith,  and  strengthened  the  hope 
of  these  true-hearted  and  devout  disciples.  Like  him, 
whose  slumbers  at  Bethel  were  visited  by  the  white¬ 
winged  company  of  Heaven,  I  was  constrained  to 
say,  ‘  surely,  God  is  in  this  place,  and  I  knew  it  not.’ 
At  the  request  of  the  patriarch,  I  administered  the 
ordinance  of  baptism.  It  was  received  with  unusual 
demonstrations  of  solemnity  and  gratitude.  The 
sacred  services  were  protracted  until  the  setting  of 
the  sun;  yet  still  they  seemed  reluctant  to  depart.  It 
was  to  them  a  high  and  rare  festival.  When  about  to 
separate,  the  patriarch  introduced  me  to  all  his 
posterity.  Each  seemed  anxious  to  press  my  hand ; 
and  even  the  children  expressed,  by  affectionate 
glances,  their  reverence  and  love  for  him  who  minis¬ 
tered  at  the  altar  of  God. 

“  The  Almighty  hath  smiled  upon  these  babes,  born 
in  the  desert,”  said  the  ancient  man.  “  I  came 
hither  with  my  sons  and  their  companions,  and  my 


90 


RELIGIOUS  SOUVENIR. 


blessed  wife,  who  hath  gone  to  her  rest.  God  hath 
given  us  families,  as  a  flock.  We  earn  our  bread  with 
toil  and  in  patience.  For  the  intervals  of  labour 
there  is  a  school  where  our  little  ones  gather  the 
rudiments  of  knowledge.  Our  only  books  of  instruc¬ 
tion  are  the  bible  and  prayer-book.” 

At  a  signal  they  rose  and  sang,  ere  they  departed 
to  their  respective  abodes, — 4  glory  be  to  God  on  high, 
and  on  earth  peace,  good-will  towards  men.’  Never, 
by  all  the  pomp  of  measured  melody,  has  my  spirit 
been  so  stirred  within  me,  as  when  that  rustic,  yet 
tuneful  choir,  surrounding  the  hoary  father  of  them 
all,  breathed  out  in  their  forest  sanctuary, — 4  thou 
that  takest  away  the  sins  of  the  world ,  have  mercy 
upon  us .’ 

On  the  following  morning,  I  called  on  each  family, 
and  was  delighted  with  the  domestic  order,  economy 
and  concord  that  prevailed.  Careful  improvement  of 
time,  and  moderate  desires,  seemed  uniformly  to  pro¬ 
duce  among  them  the  fruits  of  a  blameless  life  and 
conversation.  They  conducted  me  to  their  school. 
Its  teacher  was  a  grand-daughter  of  the  reader.  She 
possessed  a  sweet  countenance,  and  gentle  manners  ; 
and,  with  characteristic  simplicity,  employed  herself 
at  the  spinning-wheel,  when  not  immediately  occupied 


THE  PATRIARCH. 


91 


in  the  duty  of  an  instructress.  Most  of  her  pupils 
read  with  distinctness,  and  replied  pertinently  to 
questions  from  Scripture  history.  Writing  and  arith¬ 
metic  were  well  understood  by  the  elder  ones;  but 
those  works  of  science  with  which  our  libraries  are 
so  profusely  supplied,  had  not  yet  found  their  way  to 
this  retreat.  But  among  the  learners  was  visible, 
what  does  not  always  distinguish  better  endowed 
seminaries :  docility,  subordination  and  profound 
attention  to  every  precept  or  illustration.  Habits 
of  application  and  desire  for  knowledge  were  infused 
into  all.  So  trained  up  were  they  in  industry,  that 
even  the  boys,  in  the  intervals  of  their  lessons, 
were  engaged  in  the  knitting  of  stockings  for  winter. 
To  the  simple  monitions  which  I  addressed  to  them, 
they  reverently  listened;  and  ere  they  received  the 
parting  blessing,  rose  and  repeated  in  unison  a 
few  passages  of  Scripture,  and  lifted  up  their  sweet 
voices,  chanting,  ‘  blessed  be  the  Lord  God  of  Israel, 
for  he  hath  visited  and  redeemed  his  people.’ 

Whatever  I  beheld  in  this  singular  spot,  served  to 
awaken  curiosity  or  to  interest  feeling.  All  my  in¬ 
quiries  were  satisfied  with  the  utmost  frankness. 
Evidently,  there  was  nothing  which  needed  conceal¬ 
ment.  The  heartless  intercourse  of  fashion,  with  its 


v 


92 


RELIGIOUS  SOUVENIR. 


subterfuges  and  its  vices,  had  not  penetrated  to  this 
hermetically  sealed  abode.  The  patriarch,  at  his 
entrance  upon  his  territory,  had  divided  it  into  six 
equal  portions,  reserving  one  for  himself,  and  bestow¬ 
ing  another  on  each  of  his  five  sons.  As  the  children 
of  the  colony  advanced  to  maturity,  they,  with  scarcely 
an  exception,  contracted  marriages  among  each  other, 
striking  root  like  the  branches  of  the  banyan  around 
the  parent  tree.  The  domicile  of  every  family  was 
originally  a  rude  cabin  of  logs,  serving  simply  the 
purpose  of  shelter.  But  in  front  of  this,  a  house  of 

larger  dimensions  was  commenced;  and  so  con¬ 

structed,  that  the  ancient  abode  might  become  its 
kitchen,  when  the  whole  was  completed.  To  the 
labour  of  building  they  attended,  as  they  were  able  to 
command  time  and  materials.  This  they  kept,  in  the 
language  of  one  of  the  colonists, c  for  their  handy- work, 
when  there  was  no  farming,  or  turpentine-gathering, 
or  tar-making.’  Several  were,  at  that  time,  in 
different  stages  of  progress;  marking  the  links  of 

gradation  between  the  rude  cottage,  and  what  is 

termed  the  ‘  framed  house.’  When  finished,  though 
devoid  of  architectural  elegance,  they  exhibited 
capabilities  of  comfort,  equal  to  the  chastened  ex¬ 
pectations  of  a  primitive  people.  A  field  for  corn,  and 


THE  PATRIARCH. 


93 


a  garden  abounding  with  vegetables,  were  appendages 
to  each  habitation.  Cows  grazed  quietly  around, 
and  sheep  dotted  like  snow-flakes  the  distant  green 
pastures.  Each  family  produced  within  its  own 
domain,  the  articles  of  food  necessary  for  its  own 
consumption;  and  the  wheel,  the  loom  and  the  needle 
were  the  resources  for  their  wardrobe.  When  neces¬ 
sary,  the  softer  sex  participated  in  the  labours  of 
harvest,  or  the  business  of  horticulture;  thus  cher¬ 
ishing  that  vigour  and  muscular  energy  which 
distinguish  the  peasantry  of  Europe,  from  their 
effeminate  sisters  of  the  nobility  and  gentry.  For 
such  articles  as  their  plantations  did  not  supply,  the 
pitch-pine  was  their  medium  of  purchase.  When  the 
season  arrived  for  collecting  its  hidden  treasures,  an 
aperture  was  made  in  its  bark,  and  a  box  inserted, 
into  which  the  turpentine  continually  oozed.  Care 
was  required  to  preserve  this  orifice  free  from  the 
induration  of  glutinous  matter.  Thus  it  must  be 
frequently  re-opened,  or  carried  gradually  upward  on 
the  trunk  of  the  tree ;  sometimes  to  such  a  height,  that 
a  small  knife  affixed  to  the  extremity  of  a  long  pole  is 
used  for  that  purpose.  Large  trunks  sustain  several 
boxes  at  the  same  time,  though  it  is  required  that  the 
continuity  of  bark  be  preserved,  or  the  tree,  thus 

G 


94 


RELIGIOUS  SOUVENIR. 


shedding  its  life-blood  for  the  good  of  man,  must 
perish.  Though  the  labourers  in  this  department  are 
exceedingly  industrious  and  vigilant ;  there  will 
usually  be  a  considerable  deposit  adhering  to  the 
body  of  the  tree.  These  portions,  called  1  turpentine- 
facings,’  are  carefully  separated,  and  laid  in  a  cone¬ 
like  form,  until  they  attain  the  size  of  a  formidable 
mound.  This  is  covered  with  earth,  and  when  the 
cool  season  commences,  is  ignited;  and  the  liquid  tar, 
flowing  into  a  reservoir  prepared  for  it,  readily  obtains 
a  market  among  dealers  in  naval  stores. 

Shall  I  be  forgiven  for  such  minuteness  in  describing 
the  humble  occupations  of  this  isolated  people?  So 
strongly  did  they  excite  my  affectionate  solicitude, 
that  not  even  their  slightest  concerns  seemed  un¬ 
worthy  of  attention.  By  merchants  of  the  distant 
town,  who  were  in  the  habit  of  purchasing  their 
manufactures,  I  was  afterwards  informed,  that  these 
men  were  distinguished  for  integrity  and  upright¬ 
ness  ;  and,  that  their  simple  affirmation  possessed  the 
sacredness  of  an  oath.  The  eldest  son  remarked  to 
me,  that  he  had  never  known  among  the  people  a 
single  instance  of  either  intemperance  or  profanity. 

u  Our  young  men  have  no  temptations,  and  the  old 
set  a  uniformly  sober  example.  Still,  I  cannot  but 


THE  PATRIARCH. 


95 


think  our  freedom  from  vice  is  chiefly  owing  to  a 
sense  of  religious  obligation,  cherished  by  God’s 
blessing  upon  the  use  of  the  Scriptures  and  the 
liturgy.” 

“  Are  there  no  quarrels  or  strifes  among  you?” 

“For  what  should  we  contend ?  We  have  here  no 
prospect  of  wealth,  no  motive  of  ambition,  and  we  are 
too  busy  to  dispute  about  words.  Are  not  these  the 
sources  of  many  of  the  1  wars  and  fightings’  among 
mankind?  Beside,  we  are  all  of  one  blood.  Seldom 
is  there  any  variance  between  us,  which  the  force  of 
brotherhood  will  not  quell.  Strict  obedience  is  early 
taught  in  our  families.  Children  who  learn  thoroughly 
the  Bible  lesson,  to  obey  and  honour  their  parents,  are 
not  apt  to  be  contentious  in  society,  or  irreverent  to 
their  father  in  heaven.  Laws  so  simple  would  doubt¬ 
less  prove  inefficient  in  a  large  and  mixed  community. 
Neither  would  they  be  effectual  here,  without  the  aid 
of  that  gospel  which  speaketh  peace,  and  prayer  for 
His  assistance  who  ‘  turneth  the  hearts  of  the  disobe¬ 
dient  to  the  wisdom  of  the  just.’  ” 

Is  it  surprising  that  I  should  take  my  leave  with  an 
overflowing  heart  of  the  pious  patriarch  and  his 
posterity ;  or,  that  I  should  earnestly  desire  another 
opportunity  of  visiting  their  secluded  domain  ?  Soon 


96 


RELIGIOUS  SOUVENIR. 


after  this  period,  a  circumstance  took  place,  which 
they  numbered  among  the  most  interesting  eras  of 
their  history.  A  small  chapel  was  erected  in  the 
village  nearest  to  their  settlement.  Though  at  the  dis¬ 
tance  of  many  miles,  they  anticipated  its  completion 
with  delight.  At  its  consecration  by  the  late  bishop 
Ravenscroft,  as  many  of  the  colonists  as  found  it 
possible  to  leave  home,  determined  to  be  present. 
Few  of  the  younger  ones  had  ever  entered  a  building 
set  apart  solely  for  the  worship  of  God;  and  the  days 
were  counted  until  they  should  receive  permission  to 
tread  his  courts.  The  appointed  time  arrived:  and 
just  before  the  commencement  of  the  sacred  services, 
a  procession  of  a  singular  aspect  was  seen  wind¬ 
ing  along  amid  interposing  shades.  It  consisted  of 
persons  of  both  sexes  and  of  every  age,  clad  in  a 
primitive  style,  and  moving  onward  with  solemn 
order.  I  recognized  my  hermit  friends,  and  hastened 
forth  to  meet  them.  Scarcely  could  the  ancient  Jews, 
when  from  distant  regions  they  made  their  pilgrimage 
to  the  glorious  hill  of  Zion,  have  testified  more  touch¬ 
ing  emotion,  than  these  guileless  worshippers,  at 
passing  the  threshold  of  this  humble  temple  to 
Jehovah.  When  the  sweet  tones  of  a  small  organ, 
mingling  with  the  melody  of  a  select  choir,  gave 


THE  PATRIARCH. 


97 


{ glory  to  the  Father,  to  the  Son,  and  to  the  Holy 
Ghost,  as  it  was  in  the  beginning,  is  now,  and  ever 
shall  be,  world  without  end,’ — the  young  children 
from  the  forest  started  from  their  seats,  in  wondering 
joy,  while  the  changing  colour  and  quivering  lip  of 
the  elders  evinced  that  the  hallowed  music  woke 
deep  echo  in  their  bosoms.  But  with  what  breathless 
attention  did  they  hang  upon  every  word  of  bishop 
Ravenscrofb;  as  with  his  own  peculiar  combination  of 
zeal  and  tenderness,  he  illustrated  the  inspired  passage 
which  he  had  chosen,  or,  with  a  sudden  rush  of  strong 
and  stormy  eloquence,  broke  up  the  fountains  of  the 
soul.  Listening  and  weeping,  they  gathered  up  the 
manna,  which  an  audience  satiated  with  the  bread  of 
heaven,  and  prodigal  of  angel’s  food,  might  have  suf¬ 
fered  to  perish.  With  the  hoary  patriarch,  a  throng 
of  his  descendants,  who  had  been  duly  prepared  for 
this  holy  vow  and  profession,  knelt  around  the  altar, 
in  commemoration  of  their  crucified  Redeemer.  At 
the  close  of  the  communion  service,  when  about  to 
depart  to  his  home,  the  white-haired  man  drew  near 
to  the  bishop.  Gratitude  for  the  high  privileges  in 
which  he  had  participated ;  reverence  for  the  father  in 
God  whom  he  had  that  day  for  the  first  time  beheld ; 
consciousness  that  his  aged  eyes  could  but  a  little 


98 


RELIGIOUS  SOUVENIR. 


longer  look  upon  the  things  of  time,  and  that  he  could 
scarcely  expect  again  to  stand  amid  these  his  chil¬ 
dren,  to  ‘  behold  the  fair  beauty  of  the  Lord,  and  to 
inquire  in  his  temple,’  overwhelmed  his  spirit.  Press¬ 
ing  the  hand  of  the  bishop,  and  raising  his  eyes 
heavenward  ,  he  said,  with  the  earnestness  of  humble 
devotion,  ‘Lord!  now  lettest  thou  thy  servant  de¬ 
part  in  peace,  for  mine  eyes  have  seen  thy  salvation.’ 

Bishop  Ravenscroft  fixed  on  him  one  of  those 
piercing  glances  which  seemed  to  read  the  soul; — 
and  then  tears,  like  the  large  rain-drops,  rushed  down 
his  cheeks.  Recovering  from  his  emotion,  he  pro¬ 
nounced,  with  affectionate  dignity,  the  benediction, 
‘  the  Lord  bless  thee  and  keep  thee ;  the  Lord 
make  his  face  shine  upon  thee,  and  be  gracious  unto 
thee  ;  the  Lord  lift  up  his  countenance  upon  thee, 
and  give  thee  peace.’ 

The  patriarch,  bowing  down  a  head  heavy  with  the 
snows  of  more  than  fourscore  winters,  breathed  a 
thanksgiving  to  God,  and  turned  homeward  followed 
by  all  his  kindred.  Summer  had  glided  away,  ere 
it  was  in  my  power  again  to  visit  the  ‘  lodge  in  the 
wilderness.’  As  I  was  taking,  in  the  autumn  twilight, 
my  lonely  walk  for  meditation,  a  boy  of  rustic  ap¬ 
pearance  approaching  with  hasty  steps  accosted  me. 


THE  PATRIARCH. 


99 


u  Our  white-haired  father,  the  father  of  us  all,  lies 
stretched  upon  his  bed.  He  takes  no  bread  or  water, 
and  he  asks  for  you.  Man  of  God,  will  you  come  to 
him?” 

Scarcely  had  I  signified  assent,  ere  he  vanished. 
With  the  light  of  the  early  morning,  I  commenced 
my  journey.  Autumn  had  infused  chillness  into  the 
atmosphere,  and  somewhat  of  tender  melancholy  into 
the  heart.  Nature  seems  to  regard  with  sadness  the 
passing  away  of  the  glories  of  summer,  and  to  robe 
herself  for  humiliation. 

As  the  sun  increased  in  power,  more  of  cheerfulness 
overspread  the  landscape.  The  pines  were  busily 
disseminating  their  winged  seeds.  Like  insects,  with 
a  floating  motion,  they  spread  around  for  miles. 
Large  droves  of  swine  made  their  repast  upon  this 
half  ethereal  food.  How  mindful  is  nature  of  her 
humblest  pensioners ! 

As  I  approached  the  cluster  of  cottages,  which  now 
assumed  the  appearance  of  a  village,  the  eldest  son 
advanced  to  meet  me.  His  head  declined  like  one 
struggling  with  a  grief  which  he  would  fain  subdue. 
Taking  my  hand  in  both  of  his,  he  raised  it  to  his  lips. 
Neither  of  us  spoke  a  word:  yet  it  was  written 
clearly  on  his  countenance,  1  come  quickly  ere  he 


100 


RELIGIOUS  SOUVENIR. 


die.’  We  entered  together  the  dwelling  of  the  good 
patriarch.  One  glance  convinced  me  that  he  was  not 
long  to  be  of  our  company.  His  posterity  were 
gathered  in  sorrow  around  him : — 

1  For  drooping,  sickening,  dying,  they  began 

Whom  they  revered  as  God,  to  mourn  as  man.’ 

He  was  fearfully  emaciated,  but  as  I  spake  of  that 
Saviour  who  ‘  went  not  up  to  joy  until  he  first  suf¬ 
fered  pain,’  his  brow  again  lighted  with  the  calmness 
of  one  whose  1  way  to  eternal  joy  was  to  suffer  with 
Christ,  whose  door  to  eternal  life  gladly  to  die  with 
him.’  Greatly  comforted  by  prayer,  he  desired  that 
the  holy  communion  might  be  once  more  administered 
to  him  and  his  children.  There  was  a  separation 
around  his  bed.  Those  who  had  been  accustomed  to 
partake  with  him,  drew  near  and  knelt  around  the 
dying.  Fixing  his  eye  on  the  others,  he  said  with 
an  energy  of  tone  which  we  thought  had  forsaken 
him:  u  Will  ye  thus  be  divided  at  the  last  day?"  A 
burst  of  wailing  grief  was  the  reply. 

Never  will  that  scene  be  effaced  from  my  remem¬ 
brance  :  the  expressive  features  and  thrilling  responses 
of  the  patriarch,  into  whose  expiring  body  the  soul 
returned  with  power,  that  it  might  leave  this  last 


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+ 


THE  PATRIARCH. 


101 


testimony  of  faith  and  hope  to  those  whom  it  loved. 
Rekindling  still  more  and  more,  as  it  lingered  upon 
the  threshold  of  time,  we  were  surprised  to  hear  in  an 
emphatic  voice,  his  blessing  upon  those  who  sur¬ 
rounded  him,  in  the  name  of  that  God  1  whose  peace 
passeth  all  understanding.’ 

There  was  an  interval,  during  which,  he  seemed  to 
slumber.  Whispers  of  hope  were  heard  around  his 
couch,  that  he  might  awake  and  be  refreshed.  At 
length,  his  eyes  slowly  unclosed.  They  were  glazed, 
and  deeply  sunken  in  their  sockets.  Their  glance  was 
long  and  kind  upon  those  who  hung  over  his  pillow. 
His  lips  moved,  but  not  audibly.  Bending  my  ear 
more  closely,  I  found  that  he  spoke  of  him  who  is 
the  ‘  resurrection  and  the  life.’  A  slight  shuddering 
passed  over  his  frame,  and  he  sank  to  rest. 

A  voice  of  loud  weeping  rose  from  among  the 
children,  who  had  been  summoned  to  the  bed  of  death. 
Ere  I  had  attempted  to  administer  consolation,  the  son 
with  a  calm  voice  pronounced,  * the  Lord  gave,  and 
the  Lord  hath  taken  away:  blessed  be  the  name  of 
the  Lord.’ 

Deep  silence  ensued.  It  seemed  as  if  every  heart 
was  installing  him  who  spake,  in  the  place  of  the 
father  and  the  governor  who  had  departed.  He  stood 


102 


RELIGIOUS  SOUVENIR. 


among  them  in  the  simple  majesty  of  his  birth-right, 
as  a  ruler  and  priest,  to  guide  his  people  in  the  way 
everlasting.  It  was  as  if  the  mantle  of  the  sainted  one 
had  descended  upon  him,  as  if  those  ashen  lips  had 
broken  the  seal  of  death  to  utter,  1  behold  my  servant 
whom  I  have  chosen.’  Every  eye  fixed  upon  him 
its  expression  of  fealty  and  love.  Gradually  the  fami¬ 
lies  retired  to  their  respective  habitations.  Each 
individual  paused  at  the  pillow  of  the  patriarch,  to 
take  the  silent  farewell ;  and  some  of  the  little  ones 
climbed  up  to  kiss  the  marble  face. 

I  was  left  alone  with  him  whom  I  had  first  known 
as  the  lay-reader,  and  with  the  dead.  The  enthusiasm 
of  the  moment  fled,  and  the  feelings  of  a  son  tri¬ 
umphed.  Past  years  rushed  like  a  tide  over  his 
memory.  The  distant  scenes  of  infancy  and  childhood, 
the  toils  of  maturity,  the  planting  of  that  wild  waste, 
the  changes  of  those  years  which  had  sprinkled  his 
temples  with  grey  hairs  :  all,  with  their  sorrows  and 
their  joys,  came  associated  with  the  lifeless  image  of 
his  beloved  sire.  In  the  bitterness  of  bereavement, 
he  covered  his  face  and  wept.  That  iron  frame,  which 
had  borne  the  hardening  of  more  than  half  a  century, 
shook  like  the  breast  of  an  infant,  when  it  sobs  out  its 
sorrows.  I  waited  until  the  first  shock  had  subsided, 


THE  PATRIARCH. 


103 


and  then  repeated,  passing  my  arm  gently  within  his, 
1 1  heard  a  voice  from  heaven,  saying,  Write,  from 
henceforth  blessed  are  the  dead  who  die  in  the  Lord.’ 
Instantly  raising  himself,  he  replied,  in  a  voice  whose 
deep  inflections  sank  into  my  soul,  1  even  so  saith 
the  spirit,  for  they  rest  from  their  labours,  and  their 
works  do  follow  them.’ 

I  remained  to  attend  the  funeral  obsequies  of  the 
patriarch.  In  the  heart  of  their  territory,  was  a  shady 
dell,  sacred  to  the  dead.  It  was  surrounded  by  a  neat 
enclosure,  and  planted  with  trees.  The  drooping 
branches  of  a  willow  swept  the  grave  of  the  mother 
of  the  colony.  Near  her  slumbered  her  youngest  son. 
Several  other  mounds  rose  around  them,  most  of 
which,  by  their  small  size,  spoke  of  the  smitten  flowers 
of  infancy.  To  this  goodly  company,  we  bore  him 
who  had  been  revered  as  the  father  and  exemplar  of 
all.  With  solemn  steps,  his  descendants,  two  and  two, 
followed  the  corpse.  I  heard  a  convulsive  and  sup¬ 
pressed  breathing  among  the  more  tender  of  the  train ; 
but  when  the  burial  service  commenced,  all  was 
hushed.  And  never  have  I  more  fully  realized  its 
surpassing  beauty  and  power,  than  when  from  the 
centre  of  that  deep  solitude,  on  the  brink  of  that  wait¬ 
ing  grave,  it  poured  forth  its  pathos,  its  sublimity,  its 
consolation. 


104 


RELIGIOUS  SOUVENIR. 


1  Man,  that  is  born  of  a  woman,  hath  but  a  short 
time  to  live,  and  is  full  of  misery.  He  cometh  up 
and  is  cut  down  like  a  flower,  he  fleeth  as  it  were  a 
shadow,  and  never  continueth  in  one  stay.  In  the 
midst  of  life,  we  are  in  death.  Of  whom  may  we  seek 
succour,  but  of  thee,  O  Lord,  who  for  our  sins  art 
justly  displeased  ?  Yet,  O  Lord  God  most  holy,  O 
God  most  mighty,  O  holy  and  most  merciful  Saviour, 
deliver  us  not  into  the  bitter  pains  of  eternal  death. 
Thou  knowest,  Lord,  the  secrets  of  our  hearts;  shut 
not  thy  most  merciful  ears  to  our  prayers,  but  spare 
us,  O  Lord  most  holy,  O  God  most  mighty,  O  holy 
and  merciful  Saviour,  suffer  us  not,  at  our  last  hour, 
for  any  pains  of  death,  to  fall  from  thee.’ 

Circumstances  compelled  me  to  leave  this  mourning 
community,  immediately  after  committing  the  dust 
of  their  pious  ancestor  to  the  earth.  They  accom¬ 
panied  me  to  some  distance  on  my  journey,  and  our 
parting  was  with  mutual  tears.  Turning  to  view  them 
as  their  forms  mingled  with  the  dark  green  of  the 
forest,  I  heard  the  faint  echo  of  a  clear  voice.  It  was 
the  reader,  speaking  of  the  hope  of  the  resurrection: 
‘  if  we  believe  that  Christ  died  and  rose  again,  even 
so  them  also  that  sleep  in  Jesus  will  God  bring  with 
him.’ 

Full  of  thought,  I  pursued  my  homeward  way. 


THE  PATRIARCH. 


105 


Musing,  I  inquired,  is  devotion  never  incumbered 
by  the  splendour  that  surrounds  her  ?  Amid  the  lofty 
cathedral,  the  throng  of  rich-stoled  worshippers,  the 
melody  of  the  solemn  organ,  does  that  incense  never 
waste  itself  upon  the  earth,  which  should  ascend 
to  heaven?  On  the  very  beauty  and  glory  of  its 
ordinances,  may  not  the  spirit  proudly  rest,  and  seal 
itself  up,  and  go  no  more  forth  to  the  work  of  benevo¬ 
lence,  nor  spread  its  wing  at  the  call  of  faith? 

Yet  surely  there  is  a  reality  in  religion ,  though  man 
may  cheat  himself  with  its  shadow.  Here  I  have 
beheld  it  in  simplicity,  disrobed  of  {  all  pomp  and  cir¬ 
cumstance,’  yet  with  power  to  soothe  the  passions  into 
harmony,  to  maintain  the  virtues  in  daily  and  vigorous 
exercise,  and  to  give  victory  to  the  soul  when  death 
vanquishes  the  body.  So,  I  took  the  lesson  to  my 
heart,  and  when  it  has  languished  and  grown  cold,  I 
have  warmed  it  by  the  remembrance  of  the  ever- 
living  faith  of  those  {  few  sheep  in  the  wilderness.’ 

S - . 


106 


RELIGIOUS  SOUVENIR* 


TYRE. 


Ages  have  died  since  the  seers  of  old, 

Oh  Tyrus,  the  fall  of  thy  pride  foretold  ; 

Ages  have  passed,  and  we  muse  on  thee 
As  a  broken  waste  ’neath  the  desert  sea; 

Thy  temples  have  sunk  in  the  waters  down, 

Oblivion  rests  on  thine  old  renown : 

Thou  art  crushed — thou  art  faded — thy  strength  is  o’er, 
Thy  glory  and  beauty  will  gleam  no  more. 

Where  are  the  piles  which,  in  days  gone  by, 

From  thy  streets  aspir’d  in  the  lofty  sky  ? 

Where  is  thy  broidered  Egyptian  sail, 

Which  shone  of  yore  in  the  summer  gale  ? 

Where  are  the  spices,  the  pearl,  the  gold, 

Which  once  in  thy  marts  did  their  wealth  unfold  ? 


TYRE. 


107 


There  diamonds  flashed  to  the  gazer’s  eye, 

And  the  air  was  sweet  as  it  wandered  by ; 

There,  coral  and  agate  in  masses  lay, 

And  were  bathed  in  the  sun’s  unclouded  ray  ; 

The  merchants  of  Sheba  were  gathered  there — 
Where  are  their  treasures,  Oh  Tyrus,  where  ? 

Thou  answerest  not — for  the  solemn  wave 
A  requiem  pours  o’er  thy  hidden  grave  ; 

Over  prostrate  pillar  and  crumbling  dome 
The  stormy  billows  arise  and  foam  ; 

Where  thy  swelling  temples  were  wont  to  stand, 
The  sea-bird  screams  by  the  lonely  strand ; 

No  sound  of  joy  is  upon  the  air — 

Where  are  thy  revels,  Oh  Tyrus,  where  ? 

The  time  hath  been,  when  a  mighty  throng 
Of  people  fill’d  thee  ; — when  dance  and  song, 

And  harpers,  with  rapture  the  time  beguiled, 

And  the  sun  of  joy  on  thy  splendours  smil’d. 

Then  in  robes  of  beauty  thy  daughters  dressed, 

And  pride  was  high  in  each  sinful  breast; 

Then  glittering  shields  ’gainst  thy  walls  were  hung, 
While  palace  and  garden  with  music  rung; 

The  dance  voluptuous  at  eve  went  round, 

And  hearts  beat  lightly  at  pleasure’s  sound. 


108 


RELIGIOUS  SOUVENIR. 


Now  thou  art  laid  in  the  solemn  tomb 
Of  ages  vanished  ’mid  storm  and  gloom  ; 

Thy  warriors,  thy  princes,  thy  flashing  gems, 
Thy  kings  with  the  wealth  of  their  diadems, 

Are  gone  like  the  light  on  an  April  stream, 

As  a  voice  which  speaks  in  an  evening  dream, 
As  a  cloud  which  fades  in  the  summer  air — 
Where  are  thy  glories,  Oh  Tyrus,  where? 

W.  G.  C. 

Philadelphia. 


109 


i  DREAMS. i 


Dreams  are  topics  of  universal  interest.  They  are 
subjects  of  investigation  to  the  philosopher,  and  not 
unfrequently  furnish  an  inspiring  theme  for  the  poet. 
Under  their  influence,  sanguine  minds  have  been  led 
to  embark  in  utopian  schemes:  the  enthusiast  has 
sought  in  them  the  secret  indications  of  the  divine 
will :  the  votary  of  fame  has  kindled  into  rapture  at 
the  deeds  of  glory  which  they  placed  before  his  ex¬ 
cited  fancy :  the  miser  has  been  a  thousand  times 
richer  than  his  sordid  soul  had  dared  anticipate :  love 
has  built  in  dreams  her  most  beautiful  elysium,  and 
ravished  her  victim  with  delight,  or  wrung  him  with 
despair.  They  are  as  effectual  to  console,  as  they  are 
powerful  to  terrify  and  to  enrage  the  soul.  The  dis¬ 
consolate  have  found  in  them  a  momentary  balm  for  a 
wounded  spirit.  The  waves  of  trouble  have  sunk  to 

H 


110 


RELIGIOUS  SOUVENIR. 


rest:  scenes  of  hope  and  tranquillity  have  stolen  upon 
the  view,  as  if  to  point  the  wretched  to  a  land  where 
sorrow  is  unknown.  The  guilty  have  dreaded  them. 
With  no  outward  circumstances  to  divert  the  atten¬ 
tion,  conscience  has  compelled  the  terrified  culprit  to 
take  a  direct  look  at  his  crimes.  She  has  gathered 
around  him  the  images  of  his  ultimate  destiny,  and 
given  him,  in  anticipation,  a  momentary  experience  of 
horrors  which,  in  his  case,  and  when  dreams  give 
place  to  realities,  may  prove  to  be  unending. 

On  the  other  hand,  the  believer  has  often,  in  night- 
vision,  vividly  anticipated  his  approaching  triumph. 
The  shadows  which  overhung  his  path  have  disap¬ 
peared.  He  has  passed  exulting  the  dark  portals, 
crossed  the  swelling  waters  of  Jordan,  and  felt  his 
emancipated  spirit  enlarging  and  rejoicing  amid  all 
that  is  pure  and  blissful  and  glorious.  Yes,  heaven 
has  burst  on  his  enraptured  view.  But  alas,  upon 
wakino-,  he  has  found  himself  still  on  the  field  of  con- 
flict,  fettered  by  the  flesh  and  far  from  his  final 
home. 

Thus  the  ordinary  season  of  repose  for  the  body, 
is  by  no  means  the  period  of  the  soul’s  inactivity. 
Not  unfrequently  is  it  the  signal  for  its  loftiest 
excursions. 

When  the  body,  exhausted  by  fatigue,  loses  in 


DREAMS. 


Ill 


sleep  its  power  of  locomotion;  when  its  portals  are 
closed,  and  its  sensibilities  are  in  a  measure  blunted, 
how  will  the  soul  rejoice  in  its  liberty,  and  commence 
its  untiring  career.  It  will  visit,  with  the  rapidity  of 
thought,  regions  the  most  remote.  It  will  create  new 
worlds,  and  people  them  at  pleasure  with  angels  or 
with  men.  It  will  condense  the  events  of  ages  into 
an  hour.  It  will  live  over  the  past,  or  leap  forward  to 
the  future.  A  thousand  fairy  creations  will  rise  at  its 
bidding.  Heterogeneous  combinations  of  men  and 
circumstances  will  swim  before  the  excited  vision, 
and  elicit  as  many  corresponding  images  of  dread  and 
desire,  of  love  and  hate,  of  joy  and  sorrow.  How 
wonderful,  how  incomprehensible  its  powers  !  Who 
who  can  say,  that  a  spirit  so  ethereal,  so  discursive, 
of  such  lofty  flight,  of  such  untiring  career,  is  des¬ 
tined  by  its  creator  for  a  region  less  comprehensive 
than  that  of  immortality  ? 

Some  philosophers  have  maintained  that  the  soul 
does  not  always  think ;  that  often  in  profound  slum¬ 
bers  there  is  a  torpidity  or  inaction  of  the  mental 
powers  analogous  to  the  inactivity  of  the  body. 

It  is  true,  we  are  not  always  conscious,  at  the  very 
moment  of  waking,  that  the  soul  has  been  employed 
on  objects  either  of  speculation  or  desire.  Memory 
does  not  furnish  us  with  the  images  which  may  have 


112 


RELIGIOUS  SOUVENIR. 


passed  before  us.  But  is  it  not  possible  that  the  soul 
may  have  been  employed,  even  though  we  are  unable 
to  retain  a  recollection  of  it  ?  How  treacherous 
is  memory,  in  relation  to  the  passing  events  of  a  single 
day!  A  word,  suddenly  addressed  to  us,  will  some¬ 
times  erase  in  an  instant,  from  the  recollection,  a  train 
of  reasoning,  or  a  course  of  interesting  remark.  Our 
utmost  efforts  will  not  enable  us  to  recall  it.  In  like 
manner,  so  many  scenes  and  images  may  in  sleep 
succeed  each  other,  and  in  such  quick  succession,  as 
to  render  it  impossible  for  the  memory  to  catch  and 
retain  a  single  distinct  view.  Thoughts  are  coursing 
through  the  mind  with  great  rapidity.  A  sudden 
waking  may  arrest  and  divert  the  attention,  from  sub¬ 
jects  which,  but  a  moment  before,  engrossed  the 
reflections  or  the  passions  of  the  soul.  It  by  no 
means  follows,  because  we  cannot  remember  a  dream, 
that  therefore  none  has  occurred. 

We  experience  also,  at  times,  dim  and  shadowy 
recollections,  which  cannot  well  be  explained  but  on 
the  principle  that  the  mind  is  ever  active.  Who  has 
not,  for  example,  come  suddenly  upon  a  scene,  or 
mingled  in  a  company,  where  something  has  suggested 
the  idea  that  this  scene,  or  this  company,  is  but 
the  repetition  of  what  had  been  before  witnessed? 
The  countenances,  the  conversation,  the  whole  group 


DREAMS. 


113 


appear  familiar.  Memory  is  tasked  in  vain  to  inform 
us  when  and  where  the  like  scenes  have  occurred. 
As  an  apology  for  a  more  satisfactory  conclusion,  it  is 
generally  inferred  that  we  must  have  dreamed  of 
them.  What  is  thus  lightly  affirmed  may  be  true  in 
fact,  and  admit  of  a  rational  explanation.  Many 
things  which  pass  before  the  mind  in  sleep  are  no 
doubt  forgotten.  We  retain  no  image  of  them  at  the 
very  moment  of  waking.  By  the  power  of  mental 
association,  they  may  however  be  subsequently  re¬ 
called.  That  faculty  by  which  suggestions  are  given, 
and  analogies  are  traced,  may  operate  to  restore 
them.  We  are  startled  by  the  thought,  that  although 
the  scene  is  known  to  be  new,  it  is  nevertheless 
familiar.  But  may  not  a  similar  view  have  occupied 
the  imagination  during  the  hours  of  sleep  ?  May  not 
some  features  in  the  fancied  and  the  real  scene  be  so 
identical  or  so  analogous,  as  to  excite  in  the  memory 
the  faded  images  of  some  night  vision  ? 

If  the  reader  will  pardon  a  personal  allusion,  I  will 
mention  a  circumstance  bearing  on  this  point,  of  a 
somewhat  unusual  character. 

Several  years  since,  the  writer  of  this  essay  found 
himself,  at  the  moment  of  waking,  exhausted  and 
depressed  in  consequence  of  something  which  had 
taken  place  during  the  night.  Sleep  had  not  as  usual 


114 


RELIGIOUS  SOUVENIR. 


refreshed  him.  He  had  no  recollection  of  having 
experienced  what  is  commonly  called  the  night-mare. 
He  was  not  conscious  of  having;  dreamed  at  all.  Still 
there  was,  in  the  occurrences  of  the  night,  something 
which  had  left  a  heavy  pressure  on  the  spirits. 

After  the  lapse  of  several  days,  and  when  the  im¬ 
pression  was  worn  off,  a  slight  circumstance  brought 
at  once  to  his  mind  the  fact,  that  his  late  impressions 
were  the  result  of  a  dream;  and  which  arrayed  also 
before  him  the  strong  features  of  the  vision.  The 
circumstance  alluded  to  was  a  sudden  noise  produced 
by  the  settling  of  the  beams  in  a  garret  adjacent  to 
the  room  in  which  he  was  sitting.  The  noise  sug¬ 
gested  the  crash  of  falling  houses.  This  was  instantly 
associated  with  the  subject  of  the  dream,  which  was 
the  final  judgment.  The  whole  vision  rose  again 
before  the  imagination.  It  was  renewed  with  all  the 
vividness  of  a  real  scene.  The  son  of  man  was  seen 
coming  in  the  clouds  of  heaven.  Around  his  descend¬ 
ing  path-way,  was  a  retinue  of  angels  which  no  man 
could  number.  The  trump  of  the  archangel  was 
pealing  the  knell  of  the  universe.  Its  reverberations 
reached  the  cemeteries  of  the  earth  and  the  caverns  of 
the  sea.  The  dead  started  from  their  long  deep 
slumbers.  The  living  turned  pale,  and  raised  a  cry 
for  mercy.  The  earth  was  cleaving  in  a  thousand 


DREAMS. 


115 


places,  and  the  last  fires  were  bursting  forth  to  en¬ 
velope  it.  Above  the  awful  scene  and  far  beyond  it, 
was  heard  the  sweet  song  of  redemption.  Robed  in 
white,  the  saints  had  gone  to  meet  their  Lord.  They 
were  gazing  on  his  glories,  and  swelling  his  final 
triumph.  Strange  as  it  may  appear,  this  picture  rose 
on  the  mind,  and  was  recognised  as  a  transcript  of  a 
forgotten  dream.  The  more  minute  features  of  the 
vision  it  is  impossible  to  describe.  It  is  equally  im¬ 
possible  to  give  the  reader  a  conception  of  images  and 
impressions  which  came  in  startling  succession  on  the 
soul;  for  not  only  the  scene,  but  the  accompanying 
feeling  was  recollected. 

During  our  waking  hours,  unbelief  throws  a  sort  of 
illusion  over  the  most  graphic  scenes  of  the  judgment. 
We  are  prone  to  regard  them  not  only  as  distant,  but 
as  in  some  degree  imaginary.  Hence  they  fail  to  fix 
in  the  mind  a  deep  and  practical  feeling.  But  dreams 
are  for  the  time  as  realities ;  and  he  who  has  once 
beheld,  in  night  vision,  the  group  of  terrific  imagery 
associated  with  the  judgment,  will  neither  make  light 
of  the  event,  nor  easily  rid  himself  of  the  impression. 

The  fact  just  related  favours  the  notion  that  the 
soul  is  always  active.  The  dream  was  one  of  a  pecu¬ 
liar  and  impressive  character;  yet  at  the  very  moment 
of  waking  it  was  lost.  Its  recurrence  depended  on  a 


116 


RELIGIOUS  SOUVENIR. 


slight  circumstance.  But  for  that  circumstance,  it 
might  never  have  revisited  the  mind. 

How  many  thoughts  and  impressions  may,  in  like 
manner,  be  experienced  in  sleep,  which  memory  never 
can  renew!  It  appears  probable,  therefore,  that  the 
soul  of  man  is  always  exercising  more  or  less  vigor¬ 
ously  its  powers.  Its  lofty  flights  and  wild  excursions 
during  sleep  are  the  mysterious  intimations  of  its 
immortality. 

To  relate  a  dream  of  so  serious  a  character,  may,  to 
some,  seem  inappropriate  to  the  design  of  even  a 
religious  annual.  But  the  philosopher  may  read  it  as 
a  mere  fact,  and  make  what  use  he  pleases  of  it  in  his 
analysis  of  the  mind.  The  gay  and  thoughtless  will 
of  course  just  glance  at  it.  There  may,  however,  be 
some,  who  will  seek  in  it  a  subject  of  grave  reflection, 
and  compel  it  to  contribute  to  their  moral  improve¬ 
ment.  They  may  not  be  willing  to  allow  a  mawkish 
sensibility  to  veil  from  their  sight  scenes  of  thrilling 
interest,  in  which  they  are  to  be  both  spectators  and 
actors.  Having  an  eye  fixed  on  the  cross,  that  sure 
defence  against  death’s  terrors;  and  having  a  hope 
anchored  in  promises  which  respect  not  only  bright 
visions  after,  but  a  blessed  composure  amid  the  judg¬ 
ment  scenes ;  they  can  calmly  anticipate  the  coming  of 
the  son  of  man.  It  is  good  to  neutralize  the  glare  of 


DREAMS. 


117 


this  world,  by  the  glad  or  fearful  prospects  of  another. 
The  aid  which  such  contemplations  afford  in  our 
warfare  is  not  to  be  despised.  The  fact  too  that  these 
scenes,  however  terrific,  are  less  dreaded  when  habitu¬ 
ally  anticipated,  than  when  carelessly  forgotten, 
should  recall  our  vagrant  thoughts  from  a  thousand 
vanities,  and  send  them  forward  in  contemplation  on 
our  ultimate  destiny.  The  believer  has  nothing  to 
dread.  Though  the  way  to  his  rest  lies  through  a 
dark  and  lonely  valley,  faith  is  his  unerring  guide. 
She  carries  in  her  hand  the  torch  of  salvation.  He 
may  fearlessly  follow  her  footsteps.  She  will  give 
him  that  which  will  disrobe  the  judgment  of  its  terrors, 
and  make  even  the  archangel’s  trump  sweet  melody 
to  his  ear.  Scenes  that  will  startle  and  overwhelm 
the  guilty  will  be  to  him  the  end  of  his  sorrows,  and 
the  signal  of  his  eternal  triumph. 


W. 


118 


RELIGIOUS  SOUVENIR. 


MIDNIGHT  HYMN. 


Heaven 

Is  as  the  book  of  God  before  thee  set, 

Wherein  to  read  his  wondrous  works. 

Milton. 

How  vast  thy  power,  thou  only  wise, 

Thou  high  and  holy  One ! 

Who  like  a  tent  spread’st  out  the  skies, 

And  lightest  every  sun, 

Round  which  revolving  systems  roll 
Millions  of  worlds  at  thy  control ! 

Thy  works  how  manifold  they  are, 

Thy  glory  goeth  forth 
Along  the  heavens  from  star  to  star, 

Thy  praise  through  all  the  earth! 

How  great  art  thou,  oh  God  most  high! 

How  absolute  thy  sovereignty  ! 


MIDNIGHT  HYMN. 


119 


Thy  hand  earth’s  deep  foundations  laid, 
Thou  pouredst  out  the  sea — 

Glory  from  all  things  thou  hast  made, 

Glory  be  unto  thee, 

Creator,  God  !  who  giv’st  the  seas 
Their  boundaries  by  thy  firm  decrees. 

Lord !  what  is  man,  that  thou  from  heaven 
Shouldst  deign  to  visit  him? 

Ordaining  him  to  life,  when  even 
The  sun  and  stars  wax  dim  ! 

Hosannahs  in  the  highest  be, 

Christ,  our  salvation,  rendered  thee. 

Beautiful  planets  !  as  ye  march 
On  your  appointed  way, 

Upward  through  heaven’s  resplendent  arch, 
In  glorious  array, 

Praise  ye  his  power,  who  marshalled  high 
Your  glittering  armies  in  the  sky. 

Praise  him,  thou  sun,  great  fount  of  light, 
His  word  created  thee  : 

Shine  on,  rejoicing  in  the  might 
Of  him  who  bade  thee  be, — 


120 


RELIGIOUS  SOUVENIR. 


While  darker  orbs  thy  beams  shall  bless, 

Type  of  the  4  Lord  our  righteousness  !’ 

t 

i  Day  unto  day  doth  utter  speech,’ 

The  heavens  his  power  proclaim, 

4  Night  unto  night  doth  wisdom  teach!’ 

4  Who  would  not  fear  thy  name, 

Oh  thou  most  highest!’  Every  knee 
Shall  bow,  all  flesh  shall  worship  thee. 

S.  S.  C. 


Newport,  R.  I. 


121 


THE  SUNDAY  INFANT-SCHOOL  BOY. 

£  A  hero  truly.’ 

There  are  certain  developments  which  we  are  accus¬ 
tomed  to  look  for  in  children,  and  their  appearance  does 
not  surprise  us.  That  tenderness  of  affection  which  is 
always  loading  the  maternal  cheek  with  kisses — that 
instinctive  impression  of  dependence  which  chains 
to  the  mother’s  side — that  lovely  smile  which  greets 
the  father  as  he  comes  in  from  the  toils  and  vexations 
of  the  day,  and  feels  repaid  for  troubles  by  the  little 
arms  that  are  entwined  round  his  neck:  all  these, 
and  a  thousand  other  nameless  things  are  expected 
from  children — and  what  would  the  life  of  a  parent 
be  without  them  ?  But  beyond  these  endearments  of 
instinctive  affection,  we  seldom  look;  they  form  the 
beautiful  of  domestic  life,  and  we  are  content.  It 
sometimes  happens,  however,  that  there  are  passages 
in  the  lives  of  children,  which  challenge  the  character 


122 


RELIGIOUS  SOUVENIR. 


of  the  grand  and  sublime ;  there  have  been  among 
them  specimens  of  the  patient  endurance  of  pain, 
and  heroic  superiority  to  suffering,  which  may  scarcely 
find  a  parallel  in  all  the  history  of  men  or  women 
grown.  We  have  read,  with  an  interest  which  cannot 
well  be  described,  the  graphic  descriptions  given  in 
the  Diary  of  a  London  Physician.  These  seem  like 
romance,  and,  if  true,  are  worked  up  wTith  a  skill  to 
which  few  of  the  writers  of  romance  are  equal. 
There  is  a  painful  interest  about  them,  which  makes 
a  most  desperate  inroad  upon  the  comfort  of  a 
reader  whose  nervous  sensibilities  are  at  all 
excitable;  there  is  an  anatomical  perfection  of 
description,  which  is  just  as  if  the  surgeon’s  most 
exquisitely  sharpened  instrument  were  dissecting 
through  all  the  fibres  of  the  heart.  It  is  as  impossible 
to  read  them  without  pain,  as  it  is  without  pleasure. 

But  we  must  get  at  our  own  subject.  We  have 
no  such  exquisitely  wrought-up  theme,  to  present  to 
our  readers,  but  one  which  at  the  same  time  is  most 
powerfully  calculated  to  impress  itself,  with  painful 
yet  rich  interest,  upon  the  tender  sensibilities  of  the 
heart.  And  the  reader  may  rest  assured,  that  the 
relation  which  we  give  is  strictly  true.  There  is  not 
a  particle  of  romance  or  exaggeration  about  it.  Every 
item  of  the  story  is  vouched  for  as  matter  of  religious 


SUNDAY  INFANT-SCHOOL  BOY.  123 


verity.  And  the  story  is  told,  simply  to  bring  into 
notice  that  patient  endurance  which  a  deep  feeling  of 
religion  can  produce,  even  in  the  character  of  chil¬ 
dren;  and  which  can  lead  them  to  bear  the  most 
excruciating  pain,  with  something  far  beyond  the 
fortitude  to  which  unassisted  human  nature  may  be 
screwed  up.  The  narrative,  as  to  its  main  facts,  we 
had  from  a  Sunday  school  teacher,  of  rare  endow¬ 
ments  for  this  work  of  love,  and  of  piety  unquestioned. 

The  subject  of  this  brief  relation  was,  at  the  time  of 
the  occurrence,  about  nine  years  of  age,  and  remarka¬ 
bly  small  for  his  years ;  his  sufferings  had  most  probably 
retarded  his  growth.  For  two  Sundays  he  was 
missed  from  the  school :  and  though  his  general 
attendance  had  been  particularly  regular,  the  cir¬ 
cumstance  did  not  excite  much  of  the  teacher’s 
attention;  because  the  autumn  and  winter  of  1831 
had  been  unusually  inclement  and  severe  ;  and,  with 
the  distress  necessarily  occasioned  among  the  more 
destitute  classes  of  society,  together  with  the  preva¬ 
lent  influenza,  had  very  materially  diminished  the 
attendance  at  the  school.  It  was  naturally  supposed, 
that  some  of  these  causes,  connected  with  the  distance 
of  his  residence,  had  operated  to  prevent  his  accus¬ 
tomed  regularity,  and  the  matter  passed  without 
investigation. 


124 


RELIGIOUS  SOUVENIR. 


On  Sunday  - ,  a  little  girl  came  into  the 

school  room,  and  addressing  herself  to  the  teacher, 
told  him,  that  ‘her  brother  was  very  ill;  that  the 
doctors  had  cut  a  large  swelling  from  his  neck — that 
he  would  like  to  see  his  teacher,  and  often  wept  when 
he  spoke  about  it.’  The  little  girl  added,  in  a  very 
interesting  and  artless  manner,  ‘  he  says  too,  that  he 
thinks  he  has  got  religion.’  This  was  his  own  ex¬ 
pression,  and  we  have  not  ventured  to  alter  it. 

Thus  called  upon,  and  discovering  that  the  cause 
of  the  absence  of  this  child  from  school  was  so 
different  from  what  had  been  anticipated,  the  teacher 
went,  immediately  upon  the  dismission  of  the  scholars, 
to  the  residence  of  this  suffering  child.  There  had 
always  been  something  very  peculiarly  interesting 
in  the  case  of  this  young  pupil.  His  quiet  and  orderly 
behaviour,  so  different  from  that  of  many  others  of 
his  playful  years,  and  his  habitually  good  conduct, 
had  endeared  him  to  all.  Indeed  his  course  had  been 
so  uniform,  that  he  is  not  remembered  ever  to  have 
been  rebuked. 

On  entering  the  room,  the  teacher  found  this  suf¬ 
fering  boy  extended  on  his  little  bed;  his  face  was 
very  much  bound  up,  but  all  that  appeared  wore  a 
pallid  and  deathlike  aspect.  A  momentary  flush 
rushed  to  the  cheek,  and  an  evident  brightness 


SUNDAY  INFANT-SCHOOL  BOY.  125 


lighted  up  the  eye  of  the  little  sufferer,  as  he  caught 
the  hand  of  his  teacher.  He  had  always  been  taci¬ 
turn,  and  on  the  present  occasion  said  but  little,  for 
it  was  painful  to  him  to  speak  ;  but  what  he  did  say, 
was  exceedingly  satisfactory  as  to  the  real  impression 
which  religion  had  made  upon  his  heart.  There  are 
modes  by  which  one  who  is  accustomed  to  converse 
with  children,  can  readily  ascertain  what  weight  is  to 
be  given  to  the  simple  expression  of  their  feelings. 

The  story  of  the  calamity  which  had  led  the  way  to 
the  present  suffering  condition  of  the  little  boy,  was 
as  follows.  Several  years  ago,  as  he  was  near  the 
fire,  his  clothes  accidentally  caught,  and  though  soon 
extinguished,  yet,  in  consequence  of  his  having  on  at 
the  time  an  apron  tied  close  about  the  neck,  the 
flames  burned  his  throat  in  a  most  awful  and  distress¬ 
ing  manner.  In  process  of  time  the  wound  was 
healed ;  but,  either  from  the  remarkable  destruction 
of  the  parts  or  from  unskilful  management,  it  left 
him  most  dreadfully  disfigured.  The  mouth  and 
lower  jaw  were  drawn  sideways,  and  quite  down 
towards  his  neck,  so  that  it  was  with  much  effort 
that  he  could  close  his  mouth,  and  to  raise  his  head 
in  an  erect  posture  was  an  utter  impossibility.  When 
he  began  to  grow,  this  position  of  the  head  became 
not  only  inconvenient,  but  painful.  Indeed,  it  was 

i 


126 


RELIGIOUS  SOUVENIR. 


truly  distressing  to  behold  him ;  for,  apart  from  the 
sympathy  which  his  suffering  condition  was  natu¬ 
rally  calculated  to  excite,  there  was  something 
unpleasant  to  the  eye  in  the  great  distortion  which 
was  given  to  the  countenance,  and  by  careless  and 
thoughtless  children  in  the  streets  his  condition  was 
very  often  made  the  subject  of  sport  and  laughter. 
This,  however,  he  bore  without  complaining;  and, 
notwithstanding  his  appearance,  he  was  always  anx¬ 
ious  to  attend  the  school ;  and  none  was  more  atten¬ 
tive  to  the  exercises,  though  it  cost  him  a  painful 
effort  to  elevate  his  eyes  sufficiently  to  see  the  pic¬ 
tures  and  diagrams  by  which  the  course  of  instruction 
was  carried  on. 

Under  these  circumstances,  and  aware  that  with 
his  growth  the  pain  and  danger  to  himself,  as  well  as 
the  disadvantages  of  his  condition,  would  be  con¬ 
tinually  increasing,  his  parents,  acting  under  the 
advice  of  the  most  skilful  surgeons  who  were  called 
to  examine  the  case,  consented  that  an  operation 
should  be  attempted,  by  which  a  portion  of  the  flesh 
was  to  be  removed,  as  the  only  possible  means  of 
affording  him  relief,  if  not  of  protracting  his  life. 
There  was  a  fearful  responsibility  attached  to  this 
decision,  and  nothing  but  the  most  certain  persuasion 
of  its  necessity  for  the  future  comfort  and  even  life  of 


SUNDAY  INFANT-SCHOOL  BOY.  127 


the  little  boy,  could  have  wrung  from  the  hearts  of  his 
parents  a  reluctant  consent.  It  would  have  been  an 
unjustifiable  exhibition  of  parental  fondness,  to  have 
shrunk  from  this  responsibility.  His  life,  it  was 
believed,  hung  on  the  result  of  this  fearful  operation; 
an  operation,  if  not  the  most  dangerous  in  surgery,  at 
least  one  attended  with  an  unusual  degree  of  pain.  Yet 
when  the  necessity  was  stated  to  him,  he  made  but 
very  feeble  objections,  and  without  much  difficulty 
consented;  and,  as  the  time  drew  on,  he  never  mani¬ 
fested  any  degree  of  fear,  but  was  invariably  calm 
and  unruffled.  It  may  be  said,  that  all  this  is  to  be 
ascribed  to  the  necessary  ignorance  of  the  severity  of 
surgical  operations,  and  that  very  few  children  would 
have  made  any  hesitation  in  pursuing  the  same  course 
Was  there  nothing  beyond  our  ordinary  experience 
to  destroy  the  validity  of  this  suspicion,  it  would  be 
sufficient;  but  we  have  evidences  that  this  feeling 
of  resignation,  this  calm  serenity  in  the  knowledge 
of  anticipated  sufferings,  was  the  result  of  principle. 
The  language  which  he  invariably  used,  was  always 
indicative  of  a  clear  and  decided  religious  influence. 
He  told  his  mother,  that  he  1  thought  he  had  given  his 
heart  to  God,  and  now  he  did  not  much  wish  to  live. 
He  said,  and  the  writer  of  this  wishes  it  to  be  dis¬ 
tinctly  understood  that  his  own  words  are  faithfully 


128 


RELIGIOUS  SOUVENIR. 


put  down — ‘he  thought  it  would  be  better  if  he 
should  die  young,  and  go  and  be  with  his  Saviour.’ 

The  writer  of  this  has  no  knowledge  of  the  science 
of  surgery ;  he  believes  it  among  the  rich  blessings 
which  a  God  of  benevolence  has  given  to  alleviate  the 
distresses  that  sin  has  occasioned  in  the  world ;  and 
though  relief  in  all  such  cases  must  be  through  the 
medium  of  suffering,  he  conceives  that  the  relief  itself 
is  intended  to  teach  the  lesson  of  the  evil  of  sin,  which 
first  ‘  brought  death  into  the  world,  and  all  our  woes.’ 
The  operation  must  have  been  one  of  delicacy  and 
interest,  and  somewhat  out  of  the  ordinary  course ; 
for  when  the  surgeon  came,  he  was  attended  by 
seven  other  gentlemen  of  the  profession  who  were 
desirous  of  being  witnesses.  Without  being  able 
technically  to  describe  the  process,  it  will  suffice  to 
observe,  that  the  flesh  was  separated  from  the  lower 
jaw,  from  ear  to  ear  ;  and  the  jaw,  thus  released  from 
the  contraction,  was  restored  to  its  place.  It  is  not, 
however,  in  the  skill  and  success  of  a  difficult  and 
dangerous  operation,  that  in  this  case  the  lively  in¬ 
terest  exists.  It  is  in  the  moral  up-bearing  of  the 
infant  sufferer;  he  did  not  require  to  be  tied,  and 
would  not  take  an  opiate  to  stupify  him  or  to  lull 
the  pain.  There  was  an  inward  principle  superior  to 
fear  and  to  pain;  the  principle  of  an  assured  hope  of 


SUNDAY  INFANT-SCHOOL  BOY.  129 


blessedness  beyond  the  grave,  should  the  operation 
be  fatal. 

As  soon  after  the  operation  as  he  was  at  all  per¬ 
mitted  to  use  his  mouth  for  speaking,  he  told  his 
mother,  that  1  when  the  doctor  first  began  to  cut 
him,  he  thought  he  could  not  bear  it  and  live,  but 
that  he  prayed  to  God,  that  he  would  be  pleased  to 
help  him  to  bear  it,  and  after  that  he  did  not  feel  near 
so  much  pain.’ 

One  of  the  medical  gentlemen  who  was  present, 
and  who  had  witnessed  many  awful  cases  from  the 
field  of  battle  as  an  army  surgeon,  said  he  had  never 
seen  one  which  had  excited  in  his  mind  such  an 
intense  degree  of  interest,  as  was  awakened  by  the 
patient  suffering  of  this  delicate  and  feeble  little  boy. 

By  the  mercy  of  God’s  providence,  the  operation 
was  not  only  successfully  performed,  but  it  accom¬ 
plished  the  purpose  for  which  it  was  designed ;  and 
although  it  has  left  the  scar  of  the  surgeon’s  knife 
over  the  whole  surface  of  the  lower  jaw,  it  has  re¬ 
stored  the  little  sufferer  to  the  comfortable  enjoyment 
of  his  life.  He  now  lives,  and  may  be  seen  earliest 
among  his  fellows  at  the  Sunday  school,  with  a  happy 
countenance,  and  an  eye  radiant  with  the  gratitude 
which  to  this  day  dwells  in  his  heart.  He  is  not  in 
that  rank  of  life,  in  which  there  will  be  any  proba- 


130 


RELIGIOUS  SOUVENIR. 


bility  that  he  will  ever  read  this  little  narrative  ;  but, 
even  should  he  do  it  in  after  life,  he  will  have 
additional  cause  of  thankfulness,  if  he  finds  that  in 
the  heart  of  any  reader,  one  single  sentiment  has 
been  awakened,  calculated  to  impress  more  durably 
on  the  mind,  the  value  of  religion  in  an  hour  of  trial — 
religion,  which  can  uphold  the  spirit  of  the  man,  and 
give  to  a  feeble  child  an  energy  which  falls  little 
short  of  supernatural. 


131 


TO  THE  EVENING  STAR. 

Queen  of  the  twilight  hour, 

I  hail  thy  soothing  reign  ; 

How  still  beneath  thy  power 
Are  valley,  hill  and  plain. 

How  fair  thy  beauty  glows, 
Sparkling  in  yonder  west, 

As  if  a  snow  white  rose, 

Dew-bright  on  evening’s  breast. 

Thou  seemest  a  vesper  light, 

Lit  at  this  hour  of  praise, 

On  heaven’s  high  altar  bright, 

While  earth  her  incense  pays. 
Then,  by  thy  hallowed  beams, 

From  nature’s  book  I'll  pray, 
And  catch  the  bliss  that  seems 
Luxuriant  in  thy  ray. 


X.  X.  X. 


132 


RELIGIOUS  SOUVENIR. 


THE  EMPTY  BIER. 


“  Thou  empty  bier,  that  standest  here 
Alone  by  the  church-yard  gate  ; 

Say,  whose  the  door  thou’lt  pause  before, 
Thy  burden  next  to  wait?” 

The  bier  replied — 11  My  range  is  wide, 

And  my  hours  of  rest  but  few  ; 

But  the  ways  are  known  to  one  alone, 
Which  I  must  hence  pursue. 

“  I  first  may  seek  her  form,  whose  cheek 
Is  fresh  in  its  maiden  bloom  ; 

On  me  to  lie  with  a  rayless  eye, 

At  the  threshold  of  the  tomb. 

11  The  youth  who  last  sped  by  so  fast 

With  the  nerve  and  the  glow  of  health, 


THE  EMPTY  BIER. 


133 


He  next  may  find,  that  close  behind 
Death  followed  him  by  stealth. 

u  Or  she,  Avho  smiled  when  the  lovely  child, 
She  was  lately  leading  near, 

With  wonder  stopped,  and  his  lilies  dropped, 
To  gaze  at  the  sable  bier — 

11  That  mother,  may  be  called  to  lay 
Her  beauteous  boy  on  me  ; 

In  his  morning  hour,  like  the  dewy  flower 
Pie  lost,  and  as  suddenly. 

“  Her  own  pale  clay  to  bear  away, 

It  next  may  be  my  lot ; 

She  may  close  her  eyes  on  her  infant  ties 
And  her  prattler  be  forgot. 

“  As  I  must  call  in  time  for  all, 

From  the  babe  to  the  silvery-haired, 

A  glimpse  of  me  to  each  should  be 
A  hint  to  be  prepared.” 


Newburyport. 


H.  F.  G. 


134 


RELIGIOUS  SOUVENIR. 


THE  PROPHET  ELIJAH. 


Amidst  the  wilderness,  alone, 

The  sad  foe-hunted  prophet  lay, 

And  darkening  shadows,  round  him  thrown, 
Shut  out  the  cheerful  smile  of  day; 

The  winds  were  laden  with  his  sighs, 

As,  resting  ’neath  a  lonely  tree, 

His  spirit,  torn  with  agonies, 

In  prayer  was  struggling  to  be  free. 

For  on  its  prison’d  essence,  hung 

The  cumbrous  bonds  of  earth  and  care ; 
And,  while  the  branches  o’er  him  flung 
Their  murmurs  to  the  desert  air, 
Unbidden  longings  to  depart 

Swelled  in  his  pained  and  wearied  breast, 
Till,  with  a  supplicating  heart, 

He  prayed  to  die  and  be  at  rest. 


Dr'tam  Try  Marten- 


-Enyrerrerf  Try  JTJfF  Steel* 


‘irmn  2P2M2PHOCT  MDEJIMJSTo 


THE  PROPHET  ELIJAH. 


135 


He  long’d  in  heaven’s  unclouded  light 
To  wave  his  spirit’s  ransomed  wings, 

To  bathe  them  in  the  effulgence  bright 
Which  from  the  fount  of  glory  springs; 
There  were  no  ties  to  bind  him  then, 

Beneath  the  mysteries  of  the  sky, 

An  outcast  from  the  haunts  of  men, 

Hid,  save  from  God’s  unslumbering  eye. 

He  turned  from  shadows,  and  the  cloud 

Which  earthly  hate  had  round  him  spread, 
And  to  a  faithful  friend  he  bowed 

In  humble  hope  and  solemn  dread. 

He  paused — and  o’er  his  senses  worn 
Sleep’s  dewy  cloud  in  silence  stole, 

And  radiance,  like  the  gush  of  morn, 

Was  poured  upon  his  dreaming  soul. 

And  lo !  the  wide  untrodden  waste 

Around  in  beauteous  splendour  glowed; 
And,  with  transcendent  beauty  graced, 

An  angel  form  before  him  stood; 

His  voice,  like  music,  charmed  the  air; 

His  eyes  were  kind  with  light  benign; 

And  in  transcendent  beauty  there 
He  stood — a  messenger  divine  ! 


136 


RELIGIOUS  SOUVENIR. 


He  spoke  of  blessings, — and  his  word, 

Which  fell  upon  the  dreamer’s  ear, 
Aroused  each  fainting  hope  deferred, 

While  fragrance  filled  the  atmosphere  . 
Then,  like  some  gorgeous  cloud  of  light, 

Dipt  in  the  sunset’s  golden  ray, 

The  angel  took  his  upward  flight, 

And  melted  in  the  skies  away. 

Then,  with  sweet  sleep  refreshed  and  food, 

Through  many  a  long,  long  night  and  day, 
Till  Horeb’s  mount  before  him  stood, 

The  unwavering  prophet  went  his  way ; 
Then  climb’d  its  summits  wild  and  high, 

And  linger’d  in  his  lonely  cave, 

Till,  like  rich  music  floating  by, 

The  voice  of  God  its  question  gave. 

Then,  as  he  trod  the  mountain  height, 

The  winds  their  solemn  anthems  played, 
The  earthquake  thundered  in  its  might, 

And  clouds  tumultuous  o’er  him  strayed. 
What  then  befel? — a  flush  of  fire — 

And  then,  that  father’s  soothing  voice, 
Which  bids  each  faithful  hope  aspire, 

And  makes  the  ransomed  soul  rejoice. 

Philadelphia.  W.  G.  C. 


L  37 


CHRISTIAN  LACONICS. 

I. 

A  characteristic  of  true  piety  is  reverence,  holy 
awe,  in  view  of  the  purity  of  God.  This  is  the  mean¬ 
ing  of  the  Scripture  phrase,  so  often  repeated,  the 
fear  of  the  Lord.  The  angels  in  heaven,  where  there 
is  not  the  least  spot  of  impurity,  veil  their  faces: 
with  what  reverence,  then,  should  sinners  approach 
the  throne !  That  piety  is  suspicious  which  betrays 
irreverence  for  God.  We  may  cover  ourselves  with 
zeal  as  with  a  cloak ;  yet,  if  we  have  not  this  fear  of 
the  Lord,  we  possess  not  genuine  piety. 

II. 

Many  conquerors  have  been  ruined  by  their  careless¬ 
ness  after  a  victory;  and  many,  like  David,  have 
fallen  into  great  sins,  after  special  manifestations  of 
God’s  favour.  Spiritual  pride  is  then  apt  to  arise, 


13S 


RELIGIOUS  SOUVENIR. 


when  decline  immediately  commences.  Instead  of 
remitting  our  exertions,  when  we  have  enjoyed 
peculiar  nearness  to  God,  we  should  be  more  watch¬ 
ful  and  instant  in  prayer,  as  in  seasons  of  the  greatest 
danger. 


III. 

Our  Lord  who  well  knew  the  sorrows  that  were  to 
come  upon  him,  chose  to  be  found  by  his  enemies  in 
the  posture  of  prayer.  Hence  we  should  learn  to 
receive  the  troubles  to  which  we  are  subject  in  the 
same  manner.  When  angry  clouds  skirt  the  horizon, 
and  vivid  lightnings  and  rolling  thunders  betoken 
danger,  let  us  take  the  only  position  in  which  we  can 

bear  the  smiting  of  the  storm. 

1 

IV. 

From  our  Saviour’s  history,  we  may  learn  that  those 
in  whom  Satan  has  no  interest,  may  be  subject  to 
strong  temptations.  Let  no  sincere  trembling  believer 
despair  because  sorely  tempted.  What  temptation 
canbe  worse  than  that  which  our  Saviour  experienced ; 
1  to  fall  down  and  worship’  Satan. 

V. 

There  must  be  a  harmony  in  our  duties.  We  cannot 


CHRISTIAN  LACONICS. 


139 


perform  some  aright,  while  we  wilfully  neglect 
others.  The  soul  must  at  all  times  be  kept  in  a  holy 
frame  of  obedience ;  we  must  have  respect  unto  all 
the  commandments  of  God,  if  we  would  be  his  chil¬ 
dren. 

VI. 

There  may  be  idolatry  in  our  attachment  to  our 
friends.  Whenever  we  delight  in  any  thing  more 
than  in  God,  we  are  idolaters.  We  must  love  Him 
supremely,  with  all  our  heart,  soul  and  mind,  that  is, 
with  the  utmost  intensity :  which  is  no  hard  requisi¬ 
tion,  for  it  only  requires  us  to  be  as  happy  as  our 
nature  will  allow. 


VII. 

There  are  many  things  mysterious  in  the  providence 
of  God,  but  this  should  not  occasion  scepticism 
or  distrust.  There  are  also  many  mysteries  in 
nature ;  indeed  incomprehensible  wisdom  will  per¬ 
form  some,  to  us,  incomprehensible  things,  in 
whatever  it  is  employed.  As  we  know  we  are  in  the 
hands  of  wisdom  and  benevolence,  let  us  rest  content 
though  some  things  be  dark.  Eternity,  that  eternity 
to  which  we  are  hastening,  will  shed  a  clearer  light 
on  all  subjects. 


140 


RELIGIOUS  SOUVENIR. 


VIII. 

It  is  a  solemn  thought,  that  impenitent  sinners  are 
continually  filling  the  cup  of  their  iniquities,  in  what¬ 
ever  they  are  employed ;  whether  in  the  performance 
of  the  ordinary  offices  of  life,  or  the  interchange  of 
social  or  domestic  affection,  always  treasuring  up 
wrath.  Until  they  fully  resolve  on  immediate  repen¬ 
tance  and  godliness,  all  their  efforts  are  in  vain;  their 
cup  will  soon  be  full,  and  then  the  glittering  sword  of 
God’s  vengeance  will  descend,  and  they  will  perish 
for  ever. 


IX. 

The  policy  of  one  statesman  may  be  opposed  by  his 
successor,  and  the  mark  he  has  made  on  the  world 
obliterated;  the  name  and  works  of  the  proudest 
philosopher  may  sink  into  oblivion  ;  but  the  Christian 
who  has  been  instrumental  in  the  conversion  of  one 
soul,  has  not  only  caused  a  thrill  of  joy  among  the 
angels  of  God,  but  has  added  a  new  note  to  the  eternal 
melody  of  heaven,  a  new  voice  to  the  undying 
chorus  1  worthy  the  Lamb.’ 


X. 

Sinners  deceive  themselves  when  they  suppose  they 


CHRISTIAN  LACONICS. 


141 


have  a  respect  and  veneration  for  the  Saviour.  He 
stands  for  years  knocking  at  the  door  of  their  hearts, 
but  is  refused  admittance.  Would  one  respected, 
be  thus  treated  ? 


XI. 

We  are  constantly  to  be  on  our  guard  against  the 
influence  of  prejudices.  They  are  the  most  fruitful 
sources  of  error.  Some  adopt  opinions  because  they 
are  old;  some,  because  they  are  new;  some,  because 
they  are  plain  and  simple ;  and  others,  because  they 
are  sublime  and  mysterious  ;  some,  because  they  are 
received  by  many;  and  others,  because  received  by 
few.  From  whatever  quarter  prejudice  may  derive  it, 
it  will  be  sure  to  make  shipwreck  of  our  understanding. 
It  is  false  to  suppose  that  we  are  not  accountable  for 
our  opinions,  and  that  our  practice  may  be  right,  while 
our  principles  are  wrong.  The  truth  is,  every  error  in 
theory  has  its  correspondent  moral  obliquity  in  practice. 
The  exercise  of  conscience  is  influenced  by  the  opinions 
we  have  adopted,  and  its  dictate  it  is  certainly  our 
duty  to  follow.  If,  then,  conscience  be  perverted  by 
error,  we  are  obliged  to  do  wrong :  for  if  we  obey  it, 
we  do  wrong;  and  if  we  refuse  to  obey  it,  we  do 
wrong.  Hence  we  see  the  importance  of  a  know¬ 
ledge  of  the  truth. 

K 


142 


RELIGIOUS  SOUVENIR. 


XII. 

Men  admit  the  truth  of  a  general  Providence  which 
directs  the  revolutions  of  worlds,  and  preserves  the 
order  of  systems :  but  they  dislike  the  idea  of  having 
God  interested  in  human  affairs ;  it  has  a  very  un¬ 
favourable  and  threatening  aspect. 

XIII. 

Grieve  not  the  Holy  Spirit.  When  in  the  presence 
of  a  dear  friend,  we  avoid  every  expression  and  act 
that  may  possibly  offend  :  why  should  we  not  act  thus 
toward  our  heavenly  friend?  He  is  offended  by  the 
slightest  impurity,  and  will  withdraw  and  leave  us  to 
coldness  and  wandering. 


XIV. 

It  has  been  objected,  that  the  body  of  Christian  evi¬ 
dence  is  so  large  and  complicated,  that  few  have  time 
and  capacity  to  master  it.  But  it  should  be  remem¬ 
bered,  that  the  part  adapted  to  the  apprehension  of 
common  minds,  is  sufficient  to  produce  conviction. 
But  suppose  this  were  not  the  case  ;  men  act  on  many 
principles  of  science,  the  demonstration  of  which  they 
do  not  understand.  True,  it  will  be  said,  experience 


CHRISTIAN  LACONICS. 


143 


has  taught  the  good  effects.  So,  also,  have  you  seen 
the  good  effects  of  repentance  and  faith. 

XV. 

W e  must  resist  the  first  beginnings  of  temptation  and 
sin.  Favour  shown  to  the  least  sin  is  like  the  letting 
out  of  waters.  No  sin,  however  small,  should  be 
suffered  to  remain  in  the  heart;  it  will  excite  the 
wickedness  of  nature  to  greater  ones.  No  wise  man, 
one  has  remarked,  will  neglect  the  smallest  spark  of 
fire,  if  it  be  among  barrels  of  gunpowder. 

XVI. 

A  fear  of  punishment,  and  a  vague  desire  of  heaven 
and  happiness  may  exist,  when  there  is  no  true  feeling 
of  repentance.  That  always  includes  a  sorrow  for, 
and  loathing  of  sin,  on  account  of  its  intrinsic  enor¬ 
mity  and  offensiveness  to  a  pure  and  holy  God.  When 
these  are  wanting,  however  great  may  be  the  distress, 
there  is  no  repentance  unto  life. 

XVII. 

The  parable  of  the  ten  virgins,  though  not  intended 
to  teach  definitely  the  amount  of  self  deception,  shows 
us  that  many  who  have  witnessed  a  fair  profession 
will  not  enter  the  kingdom  of  heaven.  Self-examina- 


144 


RELIGIOUS  SOUVENIR. 


tion  will  profit  us  little,  unless  we  are  willing  to  be 
undeceived.  Many  a  professing  Christian  clings 
to  his  hope,  when  he  can  give  no  good  reason  for  so 
doing.  Oh  how  unwise  thus  to  follow  the  light  of  a 
false  hope,  which  shall  be  extinguished  when  the 
shadows  of  the  grave  shall  thicken  around,  and  leave 
the  soul  to  wander  amid  the  blackness  of  darkness 
for  ever. 


XVIII. 

(  Prayer  for  deliverance  from  sin  must  always  be 
accompanied  with  action.  To  pray  for  deliverance 
from  envy,  while  no  effort  is  made  to  subdue  it,  is 
but  mockery  of  God.  Follow  prayer  with  effort,  and 
effort  with  prayer,  and  you  will  be  enabled  to  over¬ 
come. 


XIX. 

Men  would  be  glad  to  separate  holiness  from  heaven, 
and  wickedness  from  hell ;  but  God  will  make  no  such 
separation. 


XX. 

As  soon  as  we  awake  in  the  morning,  we  should  look 
to  God,  for  then  we  begin  to  act,  and  consequently  to 
need  his  assistance.  To  begin  the  day  otherwise,  is 


CHRISTIAN  LACONICS. 


145 


to  say  we  are  not  dependent  on  Him.  Unless  we  set 
out  aright  in  the  morning,  we  go  wrong  during  the 
whole  day. 


XXI. 

We  should  never  rush  without  preparation  into  the 
presence  of  God.  We  should  contemplate  his  holiness 
and  majesty;  see  that  our  hearts  are  affected  by  his  good¬ 
ness,  and  our  own  ingratitude ;  consider  our  wants,  that 
we  may  order  our  speech  aright :  then  we  can  draw 
near  with  reverence  and  godly  fear,  and  worship  in 
an  acceptable  manner. 


XXII. 

Love  one  another,  is  the  oft  repeated  command  of 

the  Saviour,  yet  how  little  is  it  regarded.  We  seem 

to  make  interest,  rank,  wealth,  beauty,  similarity  of 

pursuit,  taste  or  disposition,  any  thing  in  short  but 

love  to  Christ,  the  foundation  of  our  attachments. 

/ 

XXIII. 

We  should  read  the  Scriptures  daily  with  fear  and 
trembling,  lest  we  should  not  sanctify  the  name  of 
the  Lord,  and  thus  be  guilty  of  taking  it  in  vain; 
with  prayer  for  the  illumination  of  the  spirit,  and  the 
applying  of  the  truths  to  our  sanctification, — noting 


146 


RELIGIOUS  SOUVENIR. 


the  duties  commanded,  the  sins  forbidden,  the  rewards 
promised,  and  the  punishments  threatened. 

XXIV. 

God  is  under  no  obligation  to  show  mercy  to  man. 
He  was  not  obliged  to  prepare  the  remedial  plan  of  the 
gospel,  a  dispensation  of  grace.  This  truth  is  included 
in  the  very  idea  of  grace,  which  signifies  favour 
freely  bestowed.  That  which  is  obligatory  cannot 
properly  be  said  to  be  free.  The  notion  of  the  neces¬ 
sary  exercise  of  mercy  is  founded  on  the  principle  that 
all  the  attributes  of  God  must  of  necessity  be  exercised 
when  there  are  objects.  This  is  false ;  for  the  objects 
of  mercy  and  justice  are  the  same,  viz.  sinners:  if  both 
attributes  must  be  exercised,  they  will  interfere,  the 
harmony  will  be  destroyed — which  can  never  be. 
Again,  there  is  always  room  for  the  exercise  of  om¬ 
nipotence  in  the  creation  of  intelligences;  but  it  is  not 
always  thus  exercised. 

Men  suffer  misery  justly,  or  they  do  not.  If  the 
former,  then  God  is  not  obliged  to  show  grace,  any 
more  than  a  creditor  is  obliged  to  forgive  a  debt  that 
is  justly  due  him.  If  the  latter,  we  must  deny  the 
existence  of  misery,  or  infringe  on  the  perfections  of 
God. 

The  exercise  of  justice  is  necessary:  the  perfection 


CHRISTIAN  LACONICS. 


147 


of  God’s  nature,  and  the  support  of  his  government 
require  it.  This  principle  is  recognised  by  the 
universal  opinions  of  men;  they  believe  that  a  ruler  is 
obliged  to  be  just,  but  at  liberty  to  be  merciful  in 
consistence  with  justice.  Let  our  souls  then  magnify 
the  freeness  of  the  gospel. 

XXV. 

How  much  do  Christians  come  short  in  thankfulness! 
When  we  receive  a  favour  from  a  friend,  we  forget 
not  to  express  our  gratitude ;  but  how  many  do  we 
receive  from  God,  without  thinking  of  the  bestower ! 
Are  these  things  so  ?  and  are  we  indeed  Christians  ? 

XXVI. 

Do  we  really  desire  and  purpose  to  be  as  holy  as 
Marty n  and  Brainerd,  and  the  saints  of  old  ?  In 
addition  to  all  the  advantages  they  enjoyed,  we  have 
the  light  of  their  example.  Hence  greater  talents 
are  bestowed,  and  more  will  be  required.  Who  does 
not  shrink  from  a  comparison  with  Martyn  and 
Edwards,  and  Paul  and  Elijah?  And  yet  we  are  to 
be  judged  by  a  stricter  standard,  the  law  of  God. 

XXVII. 

There  is  a  great  deal  of  partial  atheism  among  pro- 


148 


RELIGIOUS  SOUVENIR. 


fessing  Christians.  They  are  accustomed  to  refer 
events  which  God  designed  for  their  instruction  or 
reproof,  to  second  causes,  as  though  these  were  not 
subject  to  his  order  and  disposal.  They  should  re¬ 
cognise  the  hand  of  a  present  Deity  in  every  event, 
though  it  be  apparently  less  important  than  the  falling 
of  a  sparrow. 


XXVIII. 

The  children  of  Israel  could  not  possess  the  land  of 
Canaan  until  the  cup  of  the  Amorites’  iniquity  was 
full ;  then  were  they  given  up  to  destruction.  How 
long  before  the  cup  of  this  nation  may  be  filled  P  It 
is  a  subject  calling  for  earnest  thought. 

XXIX. 

The  law  of  God  requires  perfect  obedience.  The 
idea  that  a  law  can  require  imperfect  obedience,  is 
absurd.  What  is  required  is  obedience,  and  when 
that  which  is  required  is  given,  the  obedience  is  per¬ 
fect.  The  law  of  God  is  immutable,  and  every  want 
of  conformity  must  be  visited  with  punishment, 
either  on  the  offender  or  his  substitute. 


XXX. 

The  cause  of  truth  has  been  greatly  injured  by  some 


CHRISTIAN  LACONICS. 


149 


who  have  regarded  the  Bible  as  a  text  book  in  science 
as  well  as  religion,  forgetting  that  it  was  given  to 
make  us  wise ,  not  in  the  learning  that  perisheth,  but 
unto  salvation.  It  should  be  remarked,  that  it  contains 
nothing  that  is  inconsistent  with  the  established  prin¬ 
ciples  of  any  science. 


XXXI. 

A  love  of  truth  is  laudable,  but  we  must  be  careful 
not  to  mistake,  for  it,  the  love  of  our  own  opinions. 

XXXII. 

Hypocrisy  often  appears  in  an  affected  fervour  in 
public  prayer,  and  the  introduction  of  religious  con¬ 
versation.  It  is  our  duty  to  be  fervent  in  our  prayers, 
public  and  private,  and  to  converse  much  on  the 
subject  of  religion;  but  let  us  see  to  our  motives,  that 
no  desire  of  acquiring  a  reputation  for  piety  mingles. 
The  expressions  of  a  truly  humble  and  sincere  Chris¬ 
tian  will  always  be  below  rather  than  above  his 
feelings.  He  will  tremble  when  he  perceives  the 
estimation  in  which  he  is  held,  lest,  inadvertently,  he 
has  made  professions  that  have  transcended  the  reality. 

XXXIII. 

Men  perish  not  alone  in  their  iniquity.  Every  man 


150 


RELIGIOUS  SOUVENIR. 


is  continually  exerting  and  receiving  an  influence, 
more  or  less  powerful,  according  to  the  circumstances 
in  which  he  is  placed.  The  man  that  continues  in 
sin,  not  only  destroys  himself,  but  many  others  who 
are  under  his  influence.  Parents  have  thus  often 
destroyed  their  children,  and  friend  has  dragged  friend 
to  perdition.  Many  a  parent,  who  would  shudder  at 
the  thought  of  plunging  a  dagger  into  the  body  of  his 
child,  can  deliberately  murder  its  immortal  soul. 

XXXIV. 

V 

If  ,  at  every  night,  we  were  obliged  to  give  an  account 
of  the  day  to  God,  would  not  our  manner  of  spending 
it  be  different?  The  time  of  reckoning  is  only  de¬ 
ferred.  We  may  forget,  but  God  will  not  forget  the 
slightest  action. 


Princeton,  N.  J. 


J.  A. 


151 


SAINT  JOHN’S  VISION. 


By  Patmos  shore  the  exile  stood, 

And  on  the  dark  iEgean  flood 

o 

Looked  calmly.  O’er  the  mountains  wild 
The  Sabbath  evening  sweetly  smiled ; 

The  leaf  was  resting  in  the  grove; 

The  clouds  hung  motionless  above  ; 

And  on  the  land  and  on  the  sea, 

Each  echo  slept  most  quietly. 

It  was  an  hour  the  prophet  sought, 

For  holy  meditative  thought. 

With  folded  arms  he  stood,  and  eye 
Fixed  on  the  bright  reflected  sky, 

Like  one  who  saw,  beneath  that  sea, 

The  secrets  of  eternity. 

To  him  it  seemed,  as  if  the  time 

Had  come,  when  nature’s  glorious  chime 


152 


RELIGIOUS  SOUVENIR. 


Would  cease,  and  from  their  silent  graves 
Beneath  the  ground  or  in  the  waves, 

The  sleeping  prisoners  would  rise, 

To  bliss  or  wo  unending  in  the  skies. 

But  hark  !  his  ear  what  sound  then  smote 
Was  it  the  trumpet’s  thrilling  note? 

Or  distant  thunder’s  angry  roar, 

Or  rush  of  ocean  on  the  shore  ? 

Sudden  he  turned  and  upward  gazed, — 
All  heaven  above  with  glory  blazed. 

A  moment’s  breathless  pause — when  lo, 
Ascending  silent — solemn — slow, 

The  deep  blue  curtain  rolled  on  high; 
What  scenes  then  burst  upon  his  eye  ! 

The  everlasting  city  bright 
Beamed  like  a  sun  with  living  light. 

Upon  a  sea  of  glass  there  shone, 

In  mid  heaven  set,  a  glorious  throne, 
That,  like  a  pyramid  of  gold 
And  precious  stones  and  gems  untold 
Heaped  on  a  level  mirror,  seemed 
A  double  pile.  Above  it  gleamed 
A  bow  of  pure  celestial  ray, 

That  poured  through  heaven  eternal  day. 
As  the  clear  orb  that  seems  to  rest 
Upon  some  icy  mountain’s  breast, 


saint  John’s  vision. 


153 


So  on  his  high  and  dazzling  throne 
Appeared  the  everlasting  Son. 

Far  whiter  was  his  hair  than  snow, 

His  face  more  bright  than  noonday  glow, 
His  eye  outvied  the  lightning’s  glance, 
His  tongue  the  warrior’s  glittering  lance. 
Within  his  hand,  like  beacon  light 
Upon  some  far  off  shore  at  night, 

A  constellation  glimmered.  Down, 

E’en  to  his  brazen  feet,  a  gown 
Of  priestly  fashion  swept  its  fold. 

As  some  vast  tower,  by  bolt  of  heaven 
Or  sudden  shock  of  earthquake  riven, 
Backward  the  prophet  reeling  fell. 

But  soon  he  rose,  by  secret  spell 
Or  hand  upheld  of  Israel’s  Lord. 

1  Fear  not,’  exclaimed  the  Eternal  Word, 
i  I  am  the  First,  and  I  the  Last, 

The  sum  of  present,  future,  past, 

Maker  of  all  created  things, 

The  Lord  of  lords,  the  King  of  kings. 

On  truth’s  eternal  pages  bright 
Record,  in  lines  of  burning  light, 

The  scenes  which  are  or  soon  shall  be 
On  earth  and  in  eternity.’ 


154 


RELIGIOUS  SOUVENIR. 


Thus  spake  the  ever  glorious  Word, 
Whose  voice  shall  ne’er  again  be  heard, 
Until  it  shake  this  mortal  shore, 

And  swear  that  time  shall  be  no  more. 
Down  the  celestial  curtain  rolled, 

’Mid  hymns  of  praise  on  harps  of  gold. 
Still  by  the  dark  iEgean  flood, 

The  pensive  exile  gazing  stood, 

And  balanced  in  his  reason  seemed, 
Whether  he  saw  or  only  dreamed. 


155 


THE  CHRISTIAN  SOLDIER. 


The  venerable  man  to  whom  the  above  title  may  in  a 
two-fold  sense  be  applied,  resides  in  a  town  of  Massa¬ 
chusetts,  about  thirty  miles  from  its  metropolis.  He 
was  a  revolutionary  officer,  and  having  been  through 
nearly  all  the  interesting  scenes  in  our  struggle  for 
independence,  can  relate  many  anecdotes  concerning 
that  memorable  era,  which  have  no  record,  but  in  the 
mind  of  one,  who  this  day,  May  26,  1832,  enters  on 
his  eighty-second  year. 

His  veteran  form  is  now  before  me ;  and  while  his 
snowy  locks  lie  loose  and  still  upon  the  silver  bars  of 
his  spectacles,  through  which  he  is  looking  on  the 
paper  that  he  reads,  to  learn  how  it  goes  with  the 
country  he  has  loved  and  served  so  much,  he  little 
dreams  that  he  is  sitting  for  his  picture,  or  what  may 
be  the  subject  of  the  pen  that  is  moving  near  him. 


156 


RELIGIOUS  SOUVENIR. 


As  a  soldier,  he  has  gone  through  much  suffering, 
from  hunger,  fatigue  and  exposure  ;  and  many  perils 
by  the  cannon  and  the  sword.  But  as,  in  the  former, 
his  love  of  country  bore  him  out,  and  was  more  than 
equal  to  them  all ;  so,  in  the  latter,  he  may  truly  be 
said  to  have  evinced  no  other  fear,  than  that  which, 
through  the  mouth  of  his  servant  Job,  the  Lord  has 
declared  to  be  wisdom.  His  blood  sprinkled  the  turf 
in  the  battle  of  Lexington ;  and  his  feet  had  none 
behind  them  in  the  retreat  after  that  of  Bunker  Hill. 
He  was  at  White  Plains,  and  at  Still  Water,  and  will 
tell  you  how  the  first  field-piece  that  was  there  taken 
from  Burgoyne  fell  to  his  own  right  hand,  for  his  was 
the  first  hand  laid  upon  it.*  He  commanded  the 
guards  at  West  Point,  at  the  time  of  Arnold’s  deser¬ 
tion,  and  can  recount  many  schemes  laid  by  that 
traitor  to  bring  confusion  into  the  camp,  some  of 
which  were  by  himself  discovered  and  baffled;  while 
Arnold,  perceiving  it,  endeavoured  to  dazzle  his  eyes 
by  flattery  and  attention. 

He  can  describe  the  person  and  deportment  of  the 
gallant  Andre,  at  the  time  of  his  capture  ;  for  it  fell 


*  This  piece  was,  a  few  years  ago,  and  perhaps  is  still,  sta¬ 
tioned  in  the  city  of  New  York,  and  accompanied  by  an  account 
of  when  and  where  it  was  taken  ;  but  the  name  of  the  officer 
who  took  it  was  not  mentioned, — probably  not  known. 


CHRISTIAN  SOLDIER. 


157 


to  his  lot  to  pass  the  evening  and  night  after  he  was 
taken,  with  him  as  his  guard  watch. 

In  short,  his  memory  is  a  well-regulated  store-house 
of  all  that  happened  from  the  time  when,  having  just 
returned  with  wet  feet  from  crossing  his  father’s 
meadows,  he  heard  the  first  alarm,  that  the  British 
had  landed,  and  were  on  the  way  to  Concord,  and,  he 
shouldered  his  musket  and  went  forth;  to  that,  when, 
the  victory  won  and  the  country  free,  he  saw  the 
sword  given  into  the  hand  of  Gates,  and,  the  army 
disbanded,  he  returned  home  on  foot,  performing  the 
distance  of  one  hundred  and  sixty  miles  in  three  suc¬ 
cessive  days,  and  ascribing  all  the  glory  of  the  conquest 
to  the  God  of  armies. 

The  private  life  of  our  venerable  friend  was,  in  its 
early  part,  a  season  of  success  and  sunshine.  His 
sails  were  swift  upon  the  ocean,  and  his  cattle  fat 
upon  the  hills.  He  was  blest  i  in  his  basket  and  in 
his  store.’  But,  as  in  prosperity  he  was  not  puffed 
up,  so  in  adversity  he  was  not  broken  down.  And 
when  it  afterwards  pleased  the  Lord  to  try  him,  as  he 
did  his  servant  of  old,  by  a  sudden  turn  in  his  fortune, 
which  brought  on  losses  and  afflictions  in  a  burden 
that  would  have  crushed  a  spirit  which  was  not,  like 
his,  accustomed  to  throw  all  temporal  things,  whether 
in  loss  or  gain,  into  the  scale  against  ‘  that  far  more 
L 


158 


RELIGIOUS  SOUVENIR. 


exceeding  and  eternal  weight  of  glory’  to  which  he 
is  now  looking  with  the  feeling  of  a  near  approach, 
he  was  never  heard  to  murmur,  ‘  nor  charged  God 
foolishly.’  In  one  instance,  there  literally  1  came  a 
great  wind  from  the  wilderness,  and  smote  the  four 
corners  of  his  house,  and  it  fell.’  Yet,  in  all  his  trou¬ 
bles,  he  seemed  soothed  and  supported  by  a  conscience 
whispering  within,  ‘but  he  knoweth  the  way  that  I 
have  taken  :  when  he  hath  tried  me,  I  shall  come  forth 
as  gold.  My  foot  hath  held  his  steps;  his  way  I  have 
kept  and  not  declined.’ 

His  misfortunes  and  the  vicissitudes  of  his  life,  if 
they  were  ‘  written  and  printed  in  a  book,’  would  form 
a  series  of  truths,  far  more  interesting  than  many  of 
the  glowing  and  pathetic  fictions  that  are  sung  about 
heroes  from  the  regions  of  romance.  But,  after  having 
buffeted  the  tempest  for  many  years,  in  which  he  was 
ever  more  ready  to  convince  the  world  that  the  staff’ 
he  walked  by  was  not  rested  on  an  earthly  founda¬ 
tion  than  to  boast  of  that  which  supported  him ;  he 
at  length  saw  the  clouds  melted  and  scattered  away, 
thin  and  pale  upon  the  face  of  the  azure  heavens.  He 
is  now  sound  in  health,  serene  and  happy ;  and  a 
mild  sunset  of  glory  hangs  around  the  evening  of  his 
day. 

It  may  not  be  improper  here  to  add,  of  him  who  has 


CHRISTIAN  SOLDIER. 


159 


fought  so  manfully  for  his  country  and  so  faithfully 
for  the  captain  of  his  salvation,  that  his  belief  has  ever 
been  set  forth,  less  by  his  words,  than  by  his  walk,  in 
which  he  has  always  been  found  a  follower  of  hint 
who  was  meek  and  lowly. 

His  Christian  profession,  which  he  has  never  been 
seen  to  disgrace,  was  made  very  early  in  life ;  but  on 
the  subject  of  religion  he  is  modest,  reverential  and 
a  man  of  few  words.  No  sectarian  or  bigot,  he  judges 
none,  interferes  with  none;  but  while  one  is  contend¬ 
ing  that  he  is  of  Paul,  and  another  that  he  is  of 
Cephas,  he  is  satisfied  to  be  found  of  Christ ;  and  to 
cherish  that  charity  which  1  suffereth  long  and  is  kind.  ’ 
The  gospel,  in  the  simple  form  in  which  it  was  handed 
down  by  the  inspired  writers,  he  took  for  the  first 
pattern,  by  which  to  shape  his  religious  views  and 
character,  and  he  has  never  wished  to  alter  them  to 
any  new  mode,  or  to  conform  to  rules  of  belief  and 
practice. 

He  reads  no  work  of  doctrine  or  controversy ;  but, 
regarding  the  book  of  books  as  the  light  for  his  mind 
and  the  fountain  for  his  thirst,  he  prefers  it,  in  the  one 
sense,  to  any  of  the  lesser  luminaries  that  may  be 
kindled  by  or  lighted  at  it ;  and  in  the  other,  to  the 
streams  that  may  have  been  drawn  from  it,  and  poured 


160 


RELIGIOUS  SOUVENIR. 


into  vessels  of  divers  colours,  to  be  tinged  with  the 
hue  of  each. 

You  may,  therefore,  see  him  at  this  well-spring  of 
life  ;  and  as  he  sits  with  a  large  folio  Bible  open  across 
his  lap,  with  both  hands  fastened  upon  it,  as  though  it 
were  the  only  thing  to  hold  on  by  in  this  world,  his 
eye  is  fixed  on  its  pages,  as  if  he  looked  through  them 
into  heaven. 

His  early  religious  experience  has  ahvays  been  less 
known  to  the  world,  than  to  himself  and  the  being 
with  whom  the  business  of  the  soul  is  transacted. 
Indeed,  I  never  knew  of  his  speaking  on  the  subject 
till  a  friend  a  few  months  ago,  wishing  to  know  some¬ 
thing  of  it,  questioned  him  in  so  close  a  manner,  as  to 
draw  from  him  nearly  the  following  simple  statement. 

‘  My  first  impressions  were  from  pious  parents, 
whose  moral  and  religious  instructions  were  always 
illustrated  to  my  young  mind,  by  the  example  of  their 
upright  and  holy  walk  before  me.  As  I  grew  older, 
and  began  to  read  and  to  reflect  for  myself,  I  used  to 
take  the  Bible  into  retirement,  and,  meditating  alone 
over  its  contents,  I  felt  that  I  could  not  make  a  wiser 
choice  than  its  author  for  my  friend  through  life,  nor 
seek  a  better  portion  than  the  inheritance  of  a  child 
of  God.  I  was  now  but  a  boy,  but  I  believed  he 
spoke  the  truth  who  said,  1  those  who  seek  me  early 


CHRISTIAN  SOLDIER. 


161 


shall  find  me,’  and  I  gladly  gave  up  my  heart  and  all 
its  concerns  into  his  keeping,  feeling  that  they  could 
be  no  where  else  so  safe.  I  remember  that  one  of  my 
favourite  haunts  for  reading  and  meditation,  in  good 
weather,  was  a  beautiful  walnut  grove  in  my  father’s 
grounds  not  far  from  our  dwelling.  Here  I  used  to 
go  out  alone,  to  admire  the  beauties  of  the  natural 
wojld,  and  commune  with  him  who  had  caused  them. 
As  I  looked  from  my  grassy  seat  up,  through  the  tall 
trees,  whose  boughs  on  every  side  were  studded  with 
young  nuts;  and  considered  that  the  hand  which  was 
forming  the  kernel  in  the  shell,  and  bringing  it  to 
perfection,  had  also  spread  out,  and  upheld  the  heavens 
above;  I  was  filled  with  wonder  and  admiration  at  the 
thought  of  the  wisdom,  power  and  goodness  of  Him, 
who  was  the  author  of  all  that  I  beheld  without,  and 
all  that  I  felt  within  me. 

£  It  was  at  this  age,  and  in  an  hour  and  a  scene  like 
this,  that,  with  my  heart  melted  by  unmingled  love,  I 
came  to  the  early,  but  deliberate  decision,  that  I  would 
be  Christ’s  for  time,  and  trust  to  him  for  eternity  ; 
and  thus  I  bound  myself  to  him  by  a  covenant,  which 
has  since  held  me  up  through  all  the  deep  and  troubled 
water,  and  remained  unbroken  by  any  of  the  tempests 
of  this  world. 

£  When  I  went  into  the  army,  I  took  my  Bible  in 


162 


RELIGIOUS  SOUVENIR. 


my  knapsack,  determined  to  square  my  actions  by  its 
rules,  come  what  might ;  and  never  have  I  regretted 
going  forth  to  the  field  clothed  in  the  armour  it  pre¬ 
scribed.’ 

It  is  hoped  that  they  who  may  run  over  this  hasty 
outline,  will  not  accuse  the  writer  of  having  perverted 
the  name  of  the  Christian  soldier. 


H. 


THE  ANGEL  CHOIR. 


re  is  joy  in  the  presence  of  the  angels  of  God,  over  one 
that  repenteth. 

Luke,  XV.  10. 


The  day  was  o’er,  its  toils  and  cares, 

And  at  their  festivals  the  stars 
Looked  on  my  pillow,  pure  and  bright, 

As  wakeful  guardians  of  the  night. 
Mysterious  orbs — nay,  who  can  tell, 
Perchance  the  homes  where  angels  dwell. 
Long,  long  I  mused  :  till,  high  in  air, 
Methought  I  rose  and  travelled  far, 

O’er  mountains  lofty,  valleys  green, 

And  rural  dwellings  dimly  seen 
Amid  the  fragrant  moon-lit  bowers  ; 

Here  blazed  a  grove  of  burnished  towers, 
And  there  a  still  lake’s  silver  beams 
Glanced  from  afar  ;  and  shining  streams 


164 


RELIGIOUS  SOUVENIR. 


Threaded  the  darksome  earth  below. 

Then  came  a  change  :  a  sudden  glow 
Flushed  from  a  broad  and  waveless  sea, 

O’er  which  I  wandered  silently. 

Anon,  far  in  the  clear  expanse, 

An  object  rose,  and,  as  a  glance 
Of  quickest  thought,  I  found  me  near 
A  small  green  isle,  unearthly  fair. 

A  spot  it  seemed  ’twixt  earth  and  heaven, 

A  dwelling  not  for  mortals  given. 

The  waves,  all  pure  as  crystal  round, 

The  bright  sands  laved  with  gentle  sound ; 
The  ground  was  strewn  with  fruits  unknown, 
The  flowers  on  earth  had  never  blown. 

A  central  fount,  embowered  in  trees, 

With  murmurs  filled  the  scented  breeze. 

Then  came  a  silvery  mist,  and  spread 
A  crown  of  glory  over  head ; 

While,  here  and  there,  a  wreath  was  seen 
To  float  along  the  velvet  green. 

When  lo,  the  whole  in  parcels  broke, 

And  each  a  glorious  image  took, 

And  myriad  winged  forms  appear 
Suspended  in  the  balmy  air, 

Or  lighted  on  the  fairy  isle, 

And  harping  golden  harps  the  while. 


ANGEL  CHOIR. 


165 


Nor  tongue  can  tell,  nor  heart  conceive, 
What  sounds  their  harps  and  voices  give  ; 

As  thunder  harsh  Eolia’s  lyre, 

Compared  with  this  celestial  choir. 

I  saw  one  coming  from  afar, 

That  seemed  at  first  the  evening  star: 

More  bright  than  these :  their  harpings  cease, 
And  all  the  stranger  greet  with  peace. 

1  From  earth  I  come,  another  there 
Hath  bowed  in  penitential  prayer; 

Now  strike  a  chorus  on  your  lyres, 

And  spread  it  through  the  heavenly  choirs.’ 
At  once  they  snatched  their  harps  and  sung, 
And  sea  and  air  melodious  rung. 

I  heard  the  echoes  all  around 
Of  unseen  ones  who  caught  the  sound, 

‘  The  dead ’s  alive,  the  lost  is  found 
They  send  it  back, — it  came  again, 

A  louder  and  a  sweeter  strain. 

Up  rose  the  choir  from  that  green  shore, 

The  skies  grow  brighter  than  before, 

The  moon  and  stars  sunk  from  the  sight, 
Extinguished  in  a  blaze  of  light, 

As  one,  to  whom  their  songs  were  given, 
Received  them  at  the  gates  of  heaven. 


166 


RELIGIOUS  SOUVENIR. 


J  woke — to  hear  the  matin  song 
Of  birds,  the  dewy  leaves  among  : 
The  sun  upon  my  pillow  shone, 
And  every  airy  form  was  flown. 


Stanton,  Va. 


167 


WASHINGTON. 


The  following  short  and  simple  anecdote  may  have 
some  interest,  coming,  as  it  does,  from  the  lips  of  one 
who  was  personally  acquainted  with  the  father  of  our 
country;  and  who,  fifty-seven  years  ago,  stood  with 
him  on  the  border  of  the  Hudson,  receiving  his  orders. 
I  will,  therefore,  give  it  in  the  old  officer’s  own  words, 
as  I  had  it  from  him  a  few  days  since. 

1  We  were  standing  near  Fort  Washington — I 
thought  I  had  never  seen  the  countenance  of  Wash¬ 
ington  evince  so  much  anxiety  as  at  this  moment; 
and  I  soon  learnt  the  cause.  He  had  laid  a  plan  to 
prevent  the  enemy’s  shipping  from  passing  up  the 
river,  by  sinking  a  chevaux-de-frise ;  and  now,  he  had 
just  discovered  that  his  plan  had  been  detected,  and  its 
object  frustrated.  The  enemy  were  coming  up 
rapidly,  without  any  obstacle;  while  the  relative 


168 


RELIGIOUS  SOUVENIR. 


positions  of  their  ships  and  our  fort  were  such  as  to 
render  it  a  vain  attempt  to  fire,  while  they  were  so 
much  below  us  that  our  pieces  could  not  be  depressed 
to  strike  them.  Washington  feeling  that  we  were  in 
great  peril,  and  that  something  must  be  done,  had 
just  uttered,  ‘  if  we  cannot  strike  the  hull,  we  must 
try  to  cut  the  rigging,’  when,  in  the  same  moment, 
they  sent  two  cannon  balls,  which,  passing  between 
us,  entered  into  the  battery  a  little  beyond  where  we 
stood  conversing  together. 

‘At  this  trying  crisis,  General  Washington  probably 
felt  that  the  day  was  lost  to  us ;  yet,  he  made  no  ex¬ 
pression  of  discouragement,  but,  soon  as  the  balls  had 
passed,  he  averted  his  face,  and  lifting  his  hands, 
ejaculated  in  a  low  voice,  ‘  thy  will  be  done !’ 

Here  the  good  old  man’s  voice  was  choked,  and  his 
eye  suffused  with  tears,  at  the  recollection  of  this  sud¬ 
den  and  affecting  proof  of  the  readiness  of  his  beloved 
commander-in-chief  to  do  all  that  human  means  could 
effect  for  the  safety  of  his  country,  and  yet  to  bow  so 
submissively  to  the  Divine  will. 


H. 


169 


THE  FLOOD. 

And  the  waters  prevailed  exceedingly  upon  the  earth ;  and  all 
the  high  hills  that  were  under  the  whole  heaven  were  covered. 

Gen.  VII.  19. 

Earth’s  groans  are  heard  afar — the  air’s  deep  sleep 
Is  broken.  Springs  gush  out  and  sparkle  high  ; 

The  silver  streamlets  swell  and  brawling  leap  ; 

While  swift  the  ocean  foam  invades  the  sky. 

Dark  seas  in  fury  lash  the  sounding  shore, 

And  howl  defiance  to  the  world  of  men ; 

The  rains  descend  and  swell  the  deafening  roar 
That  raves  o’er  field  and  forest,  hill  and  glen; 

The  seething  waters  storm  in  surges  wide 
And  whelm  the  living  in  their  whirling  tide ; 

A  shoreless  ocean  now  enwraps  the  globe, 

The  roaring  waves  in  solemn  might  prevail, 

Wild  clouds  are  spread  for  nature’s  funeral  robe, 

And  loud  winds  o’er  the  lost  creation  wail. 


J.  N.  M. 


170 


RELIGIOUS  SOUVENIR. 


THE  LADY  OF  SHUNEM. 

2  Kings,  IV. 

Where  can  we  find  relations  of  such  deep  and  thrill¬ 
ing  interest,  as  are  to  be  discovered  in  the  pages  of 
the  sacred  history  ?  Where  are  we  to  look  for  so 
much  simplicity  of  narration,  such  heart-rending 
pathos  ? 

At  the  time  when  Jehoram,  the  son  of  Ahab,  reigned 
over  the  kingdom  of  Israel,  there  dwelt  in  the  city  of 
Shunem  a  small,  though  rich  and  prosperous  family. 
The  city  itself  was  of  no  great  name  or  distinction  in 
Israel.  It  was  situated  on  the  northern  border  of  the 
portion  assigned  to  the  tribe  of  Issachar,  and  was 
estimated  at  five  miles  distance  south  of  mount  Tabor, 
so  celebrated  in  sacred  story.  But  what  the  little 
city  of  Shunem  wants  in  historic  recollection  is  more 
than  made  up  by  the  scene  of  genuine  hospitality 
which  is  incidentally  recorded,  and  the  display  of  those 


LADY  OF  SHUNEM. 


171 


miraculous  powers  by  which  the  God  of  Israel  was 
wont  in  those  days  to  make  known  the  rich  benevo¬ 
lence  of  his  character,  amidst  circumstances  where 
those  displays  might  least  have  been  expected. 

The  interesting  narrative  which  we  are  about  to 
place  before  our  readers,  and  the  materiel  of  which 
we  gather  entirely  out  of  the  sacred  history,  carries 
us  back  very  far  into  an  age,  of  which  there  is  little 
less  than  romance  to  be  found,  except  in  the  volume 
of  inspiration.  The  events  of  which  we  shall  speak, 
took  place  at  least  two  thousand  six  hundred  and  sixty 
years  ago,  or  about  eight  hundred  and  thirty  years 
before  the  Christian  era ;  and  we  may  have  just  rea¬ 
son  to  anticipate  a  simplicity  of  manners,  which  is  as 
unknown  as  it  would  be  unwelcome  in  the  present  too 
artificial  condition  of  society. 

The  sacred  writer  seems  studiously  to  avoid  the 
mention  of  the  name  of  the  individual  who  figures  so 
conspicuously,  and  yet  so  unobtrusively  in  his  story. 
She  is  simply  designated  the  Shunamite,  and  it  was  no 
doubt  thought  a  sufficient  distinction  that  she  should 
be  known  by  the  excellence  of  her  character. 

The  first  trait  in  the  character  of  this  excellent 
female  is  her  warm  and  permanent  hospitality.  As, 
in  the  discharge  of  the  duties  of  his  office  as  him  on 
whom  had  fallen  the  mantle  of  the  prophet  Elijah, 


V 


172  RELIGIOUS  SOUVENIR. 

Elisha  passed  through  the  city  of  Shunem,  the 
bottle  of  water  which  he  carried  under  his  arm  was 
not  exhausted,  neither  had  the  bread  failed  from  his 
scrip ;  but,  in  the  spirit  of  genuine  primitive  hospi¬ 
tality,  she  would  not  permit  him  to  take  his  solitary 
meal  in  the  caravanserai.  In  the  beautiful  brevity  of 
the  narration  we  are  told  that  1  she  constrained  him 
to  eat  bread.’  The  first  generous  invitation,  which  was 
promptly  acceded  to,  ripened  into  mutual  esteem, 
and,  as  often  as  duty  called  him  to  pass  that  way  as 
he  went  to  the  schools  of  the  prophets,  he  failed  not 
to  call  at  her  house  to  inquire  of  her  welfare,  and  to 
leave  as  well  as  to  take  a  blessing.  We  are  told,  that 
‘  among  the  ancients ,  and  in  a  simple  state  of  society, 
where  the  accommodations  of  modern  travelling  were 
unknown,  the  entertainment  of  strangers  was  con¬ 
sidered  as  among  the  most  sacred  of  duties.’  The 
reader  will  not  fail  to  recollect  the  many  very  beau¬ 
tiful  illustrations  of  this,  which  are  to  be  found  in  the 
histories  of  the  ancient  patriarchs,  and  which  gave 
rise  to  the  remark  of  the  apostle,  when,  urging  the 
necessity  and  duty  of  a  generous  hospitality,  he  says, 

‘  be  not  forgetful  to  entertain  strangers,  for  thereby 
some  have  entertained  angels  unawares.’ 

Had  the  remark  of  St  Paul  been  written  for  the 
occasion  of  which  we  are  speaking,  it  could  not  have 


LADY  OF  SHUNEM. 


173 


received  a  more  apt  illustration;  for  as  an  angel 
did  Elisha  prove  himself  to  the  Shunamite,  on  more 
than  one  occasion,  as  the  subsequent  history  will 
show. 

From  the  conduct  and  conversation  of  her  guest, 
this  excellent  woman  soon  discovered  that  she  en¬ 
tertained  not  only  a  stranger,  but  a  prophet.  He  had 
strangely  repaid  her  hospitality,  had  he  not  sought  in 
the  social  intercourse  even  of  a  brief  and  passing  meal 
to  have  directed  her  thoughts  to  that  God,  from  whom 
all  her  blessings  flowed,  and  in  whose  immediate  ser¬ 
vice  he  was  himself  engaged.  It  were  much  to  the 
advantage  of  his  own  character,  as  well  as  to  the 
spiritual  welfare  of  those  by  whom  he  is  surrounded, 
did  every  minister  of  the  living  God  bear  the  testi¬ 
mony  of  his  master,  as  the  animating  theme  of  his 
converse  with  those  who  give  him  the  generous 
welcome  of  their  hospitable  homes.  How  else  can  he 
suitably  repay  them;  silver  and  gold  he  has  none, 
and  very  seldom  can  he  have  the  opportunity  of 
reciprocating  favours.  But  surely  such  as  he  has  he 
is  bound  to  give  them;  and  a  word  in  season,  called 
by  the  wise  king  of  Israel  1  an  apple  of  gold  in  a  net¬ 
work  of  silver,’  may  be  worth  more  than  all  the  wealth 
and  honour  of  the  world. 

The  history  tells  us,  that  she  soon  discovered  Elisha 

M 


174 


RELIGIOUS  SOUVENIR. 


to  be  a  prophet  of  the  Lord,  and  this  conviction  she 
communicated  to  her  husband  in  one  of  the  intervals 
between  his  visits.  1  And  she  said  unto  her  husband, 
Behold,  now,  I  perceive  that  this  is  an  holy  man  of 
God,  which  passeth  by  us  continually.’  There  can  be 
no  doubt,  that  his  holy  converse  had  been  the  theme 
of  much  pious  meditation  between  this  hospitable 
pair.  And  in  testimony  of  a  grateful  recollection, 
and  with  a  well  wrought  desire  to  gain  a  deeper  in¬ 
sight  into  the  knowledge  he  was  capable  of  imparting, 
she  made  to  her  husband  the  following  proposal  of  a 
more  extended  hospitality.  ‘  Let  us  make  a  little 
chamber  on  the  wall,  and  let  us  set  for  him  there  a 
bed  and  a  table  and  a  stool  and  a  candlestick,  and  it 
shall  be  when  he  cometh  to  us,  that  he  shall  turn  in 
thither.’  This  proposal  seemed  to  meet  the  approba¬ 
tion  of  the  husband,  as  there  is  not  only  no  objection 
recorded,  but  the  fact  that  the  prophet,  in  a  subsequent 
visit,  occupied  his  little  apartment,  thus  kindly  pro¬ 
vided,  proves  that  it  was  agreeable  to  the  wishes  of 
the  master  of  the  family. 

It  would  be  contrary  to  our  notions  of  genuine 
hospitality,  to  place  a  distinguished  guest  in  an  apart¬ 
ment  thus  built,  and  apparently  so  slightly  furnished. 
But  we  should  judge  erroneously  did  we  endeavour 
to  graduate  ancient  customs  by  our  present  opinions. 


LADY  OF  SHUNEM. 


175 


The  truth  is,  that  the  prophet  received  the  highest 
honour  which  ancient  hospitality  afforded.  Separate 
buildings,  resembling  what  we  suppose  to  have  been 
the  chamber  of  the  prophet,  are  attached  to  almost 
all  the  houses  of  distinction  in  the  east ;  sometimes 
they  rise  a  story  higher  than  the  house,  sometimes 
they  consist  of  one  or  two  rooms  and  a  terrace  on 
the  same  level,  sometimes  they  are  built  over  the 
porch  or  gateway,  and  have  as  many  comforts  and 
conveniences  as  the  house  itself.  They  generally 
communicate  with  the  gallery  of  the  house  by  a  door, 
which  the  master  of  the  family  opens  or  closes  at  his 
pleasure  ;  and  besides  this,  they  usually  have  another 
door  which,  connected  with  a  private  staircase,  opens 
into  the  court  below,  so  that  the  guest  may  go  out  and 
come  in,  without  the  least  disturbance  to  the  family 
or  notice  from  the  household.  And  even  to  this  day, 
it  is  in  apartments  of  this  kind  that  the  most  dis¬ 
tinguished  strangers  are  entertained.  This  secured  to 
the  guest  a  great  many  advantages ;  he  could  be 
private  when  he  pleased,  he  could  easily  be  with  the 
family  when  he  desired,  and  could  go  in  and  out  at 
pleasure.  The  peculiar  simplicity  of  the  furniture 
in  the  prophet’s  chamber,  cannot  fail  of  arresting  the 
attention  :  it  consisted  of  a  bed ,  a  table ,  a  stool  and  a 
candlestick.  This  apparent  scanty  fitting-up  of  his  room 


176 


RELIGIOUS  SOUVENIR. 


is  by  no  means  to  be  attributed  to  disrespect  or  negli¬ 
gence  :  it  is  rather  to  be  considered  as  characteristic 
of  the  simplicity  of  the  times.  The  intention  was, 
most  certainly,  to  accommodate  Elisha  in  a  manner 
expressive  of  reverence  and  esteem.  The  original 
term,  unhappily  rendered  stool  in  our  English  ver¬ 
sion,  signifies  one  of  the  most  honourable  kinds  of 
seats  usually  placed  in  an  apartment,  and  is  sometimes 
translated  throne.  In  ancient  times,  the  nations  of 
the  east  were  not  so  universally  addicted  to  sitting 
cross-legged  on  the  ground,  on  mats  or  carpets,  as 
they  are  at  present,  but  accustomed  themselves  to 
raised  seats  or  chairs,  which  were  sometimes  suffi¬ 
ciently  elevated  to  require  a  footstool.  The  candle¬ 
stick  is  also  to  be  considered  as  a  mark  of  respect,  if 
not  of  magnificence  ;  and  its  use  was  to  keep  a  light 
burning  all  the  night. 

But  even  had  the  furniture  been  of  the  very  plainest 
kind,  it  would  have  been  appropriate  to  the  condition 
of  the  prophet,  and  a  mark  of  genuine  hospitality. 
That  Elisha  took  it  so  is  evident  from  the  fact,  that 
he  frequently  made  it  his  delightful  residence ;  that 
he  there  reposed  his  weary  limbs,  and  there,  in  that 
charming  solitude,  poured  out  his  soul  in  prayer  and 
supplication. 

No  one  of  a  generous  mind  ever  receives  a  favour, 


LADY  OF  SHUNEM. 


177 


without  an  earnest  desire  to  render  some  kind  service 
in  return.  The  prophet  of  the  Lord  was  not  unmind¬ 
ful  of  the  obligation  of  gratitude,  and  though  he 
amply,  and  more  than  amply  repaid  his  hospitable 
entertainers,  by  his  godly  and  instructive  conversa¬ 
tion,  he  was  disposed  to  do  much  more.  On  one 
occasion  when,  from  excessive  fatigue,  he  felt  more 
particularly  the  blessing  of  so  happy  a  home,  he 
reposed  on  his  couch,  and  revolved  in  his  mind  how 
he  could  most  likely  repay  the  kindness  of  his  bene¬ 
factors.  Unable  to  come  to  a  decision,  he  sent  his 
servant,  and  requested  from  his  hostess  the  honour  of 
an  interview  in  his  own  apartment.  To  his  request 
she  immediately  acceded,  and  with  the  frank  and 
manly  simplicity  of  the  times,  he  asked  her,  if  there 
was  any  thing  in  which  he  could  possibly  render  her 
a  service.  His  address  is  dignified  and  affectionate, 
and  marked  by  a  lively  sense  of  gratitude.  ‘Behold,’ 
says  he,  ‘  thou  hast  been  careful  for  us  with  all  this 
care,  what  is  to  be  done  for  thee?  Wouldst  thou  be 
spoken  of  to  the  king,  or  to  the  captain  of  the  host?’ 
As  if  he  had  said,  ‘  shall  I  exert  my  influence  at  court 
to  serve  you — are  there  any  privileges  which  you 
would  desire  extended  to  your  family — are  there  any 
services  I  can  possibly  render  you?’  This  clearly  in¬ 
dicated  the  gratitude  which  dwelt  in  the  bosom  of  the 


178 


RELIGIOUS  SOUVENIR. 


prophet ;  but  the  answer  of  the  Shunamite  exhibited 
a  spirit  of  the  most  noble  disinterestedness,  and  of  that 
contentment  of  mind  which  cannot  be  otherwise  than 
a  continued  feast.  The  sacred  history  gives  us  her 
brief,  but  most  comprehensive  answer:  1 1  dwell 
among  mine  own  people,’ — 1 1  have  no  wish  remaining 
to  be  gratified;  God,  in  his  providence,  has  made  my 
cup  run  over  with  blessings.  I  have  a  kind  and 
affectionate  husband,  attentive  to  my  every  want.  I 
have  abundance  of  the  goods  of  this  world.  I  have 
the  respect  and  love  of  the  friends  among  whom  I 
dwell,  and  I  have  peace  with  God, — wdiat  need  I 
more?’  She  then  retired  from  the  presence  of  the 
prophet ;  and  admiration  of  her  character  was  added 
to  the  gratitude  for  her  attentions  which  he  had 
already  felt. 

A  writer,*  who  has  seen  fit  to  furnish  to  the  public 
a  lengthened  biography  of  this  nameless  Lady  of  Shu- 
nem,  thus  alludes  to  this  interesting  and  uncommon 
incident.  1  The  answer  of  the  Shunamite  to  Elisha 
furnishes  us  with  one  of  the  finest  specimens  of  con¬ 
tentment  in  the  records  of  history ;  and  it  may  be 
affirmed  without  hesitation,  that  nothing  can  secure 
the  exercise  of  this  temper,  in  the  present  constitution 


*  F.  A.  Cox,  A.M. 


LADY  OF  SHUNEM. 


179 


of  the  human  mind,  but  genuine  religion.  In  cases 
where  no  such  principle  exists,  dissatisfaction  embitters 
the  cup  of  our  earthly  portion ,  and  all  those  ambitious 
feelings  which  agitate  and  distress  the  life  of  man 
acquire  an  uncontrolled  ascendency.’  But  to  return 
to  our  history. 

True  gratitude  is  a  restless  principle.  Elisha  was 
by  no  means  willing  to  be  thus  baffled  by  a  disinterest¬ 
edness  as  uncommon  as  it  was  noble,  and  he  turned 
his  mind  to  the  invention  of  some  means  by  which  he 
might  still  render  her  a  service ;  and  he  finds  those 
means  as  connected  with  her  domestic  relations. 

The  holy  prophet  could  not  but  have  noticed,  that,  like 
Zacharias  and  Elizabeth  in  the  new  testament  history, 
this  hospitable  pair  were  childless ;  but  the  circum¬ 
stance  had  n’ot  rested  on  his  mind  with  any  intensity. 
At  the  hint  of  his  servant  Gehazi,  he  seizes  the  idea 
that  the  blessing  of  an  infant’s  smiles  and  playfulness 
might  give  additional  happiness  to  the  already  calm 
contentment  of  his  hostess,  and  as  the  impulse  came 
upon  his  mind  from  the  inspiration  of  his  God,  he 
ventures  to  predict  to  herself  that  this  blessing  should 
be  added  to  her  already  full  cup  of  enjoyment. 

We  are  told,  that  1  children  are  an  heritage  and 
gift  that  cometh  of  the  Lord.’  The  prediction  of 
the  prophet  was  fulfilled — a  lovely  infant  smiled  on 


180 


RELIGIOUS  SOUVENIR. 


this  joyful  mother  of  Shunem.  Its  tender  years  she 
watched  with  the  most  anxious  solicitude ;  and  as  it 
lay  sleeping  on  her  lap,  or  playing  at  her  side,  her 
heart  sent  up  to  the  Father  of  her  mercies,  the  warm 
returns  of  an  abounding  gratitude.  How  many  years 
she  was  permitted  to  enjoy  the  delights  of  a  mother’s 
love,  the  history  does  not  tell  us.  Perhaps  the  very 
blessing  she  had  suffered  in  some  respect  to  win  from 
God  too  much  of  her  soul’s  best  affections.  Be  it  as 
it  may,  she  was  too  soon  doomed  to  experience  a  re¬ 
verse  as  painful,  as  the  joys  of  years  had  already  been 
ecstatic. 

It  was  the  season  of  harvest,  and  the  father  with  his 
reapers  was  engaged  in  binding  the  sheaves  in  the 
fields  contiguous  to  the  city,  but  somewhat  remote 
from  his  dwelling.  If  this  child  was  the  mother’s  joy, 
he  was  the  father’s  pride,  and  perhaps  it  was  impru¬ 
dent,  but  no  doubt  well  meant,  that  he  took  him  to 
the  harvest  field,  to  breathe  the  fresh  air,  and  smell 
the  fragrance  of  the  new  mown  meadows.  The  his¬ 
tory  gives  us  to  understand,  that  while  this  only  son, 
of  this  hospitable  pair,  was  thus  in  the  field  with  the 
reapers,  he  was  attacked  by  a  disease  not  uncommon 
in  the  climate  of  Judea,  and  known  to  us  by  the  em¬ 
phatic  designation  of  a  ‘  coup  de  soleil.’  ‘And  when 
the  child  was  grown,’  says  the  inspired  relator,  1  it 


LADY  OF  SHUNEM. 


1S1 


fell  on  a  day  that  he  went  out  to  his  father,  and  the 
reapers.  And  he  said  unto  his  father,  My  head,  my 
head.’  Instantly  the  father  sent  him  to  his  mother; 
but,  unaware  of  the  extent  of  the  disease  which  had 
thus  suddenly  attacked  his  darling  child,  he  himself 
remained  in  the  superintendence  of  his  reapers.  What 
a  brevity,  yet  tender  simplicity  do  we  find  to  charac¬ 
terize  this  history.  1  And  when  the  lad  had  taken 
him  and  brought  him  to  his  mother,  he  sat  on  her 
knees  till  noon,  and  then  died.’  No  mention  is  made 
of  the  agony  of  her  feelings,  as  she  held  his  burning 
hand  in  hers,  and  pressed  to  her  lips  his  burning 
forehead ;  perhaps  he  was  unconscious  of  all  her 
tender  cares,  and  breathed  his  spirit  up  to  God, 
without  the  consciousness  and  the  pain  of  separation 
from  his  fond  and  heart-broken  mother. 

But  as  she  gazed  on  the  breathless  corpse  which  lay 
in  her  lap,  and  as  she  looked  on  that  lovely  face  cold 
in  death,  there  was  one  thought  which  seemed  to  take 
possession  of  her  heart  and  to  light  on  her  counte¬ 
nance,  the  heaven  born  beam  of  hope.  1  This  is  the 
child  of  prophecy:’  God  gave  him,  1  God  will  yet 
restore  him.’  She  waited  not  for  the  sympathy  of 
friends ;  the  energy  of  her  character  displayed  itself 
in  promptness  of  action.  1  She  went  up  and  laid 
him  on  the  bed  of  the  man  of  God,  and  shut  the 


182 


RELIGIOUS  SOUVENIR. 


door  upon  him,  and  went  out.’  With  a  decision 
which  is  unusual,  she  had  formed  her  plans,  and  she 
sent  a  message  to  her  husband,  ‘  Send  me,  I  pray 
thee,  one  of  the  young  men  and  one  of  the  asses, 
that  I  may  run  to  the  man  of  God,  and  come  again.’ 
Surprised,  as  well  he  might  be,  by  so  singular  a 
message,  the  husband  returned  for  answer,  1  Where¬ 
fore  wilt  thou  go  to  him  to-day  ?  It  is  neither  new 
moon,  nor  Sabbath.’  But  there  was  no  time  for  ex¬ 
planation,  and  the  brief  reply  was  this,  ‘  It  shall  be 
well.’  Confident  in  the  judgment  and  discretion  of 
his  wife,  the  husband  made  no  objection  :  her  wishes 
were  gratified,  and  as  soon  as  the  preparations  could 
be  made,  she  was  on  her  way  to  the  residence  of  the 
prophet,  on  the  mount  of  Carmel.  Now  mark  the 
energy  and  the  self  sacrificing  spirit  of  maternal  affec¬ 
tion — i  Drive  on,  slack  not  for  me  thy  riding,  except  I 
bid  thee.’  Twenty  miles  at  least  had  this  agonized 
mother  to  travel  ere  she  could  impart  to  the  prophet  of 
the  Lord  the  anguish  of  her  bosom,  and  seek  from 
him  either  the  assurance  of  her  child’s  restoration,  or 
those  sacred  consolations  which  religion  alone  can 
offer.  Let  us  leave  her  awhile,  to  pursue  her  dreary 
and  desolate  journey  over  the  burning  plains  of  the 
lot  of  Issachar,  and  take  advantage  of  the  interval  for 
a  tender,  yet  profitable  remark. 


LADY  OF  SHUNEM. 


183 


‘  Those  who  have  never  felt  a  similar  deprivation 
are  necessarily  disqualified  from  forming  any  ade¬ 
quate  idea  of  the  bitterness  of  parental  grief,  when 
the  objects  of  their  fondest  solicitude  are  suddenly 
snatched  from  the  grasp  of  their  affections.  It  is 
difficult  to  say  in  what  period  of  youthful  history 
this  stroke  is  severest,  or  when  it  is  most  tolerable ; 
because  every  point  of  age  has  its  peculiar  attrac¬ 
tions,  and  parental  love  will  always  imagine  that  to 
be  the  most  afflicting  in  which  the  event  occurs. 
Happy  those  who  can  adopt  the  language  of  one 
of  the  sweetest  epitaphs  that  ever  adorned  a  monu¬ 
ment. 


‘  Lived— to  wake  each  tender  passion, 
And  delightful  hopes  inspire ; 

Died — to  try  our  resignation, 

And  direct  our  wishes  higher : — 

‘Rest,  sweet  babe,  in  gentle  slumbers, 
Till  the  resurrection  morn ; 

Then  arise  to  join  the  numbers 
That  its  triumphs  shall  adorn. 

‘Though,  thy  presence  so  endearing, 
We  thy  absence  now  deplore  ; 

At  the  Saviour’s  bright  appearing 
We  shall  meet  to  part  no  more. 


184 


RELIGIOUS  SOUVENIR. 


‘Thus  to  thee,  O  Lord,  submitting, 

We  the  tender  pledge  resign ; 

And,  thy  mercies  ne’er  forgetting, 

Own  that  all  we  have  is  thine. 

1  It  is  not  unusual  for  the  providence  of  God  to 
deprive  us  of  those  objects  we  had  too  exclusively  and 
too  fondly  called  our  own,  and  the  long  enjoyment  of 
which  we  had  confidently  anticipated.  This  is  no 
capricious  proceeding:  it  is  marked  by  wisdom  and 
goodness;  since  our  real  happiness  depends  on  the 
regulation  of  those  passions  which,  but  for  such  dis¬ 
pensations,  would  rove  with  unhallowed  eccentricity 
from  the  chief  good.  It  is  necessary  that  we  should 
be  trained  in  the  school  of  adversity;  and  that,  by  a 
course  of  corrective  discipline,  nicely  adapted  to  each 
particular  case,  our  characters  should  be  gradually 
matured  for  a  nobler  existence.’* 

1  So  she  went,’  thus  reads  the  history,  1  and  came 
unto  the  man  of  God  to  mount  Carmel.  And  it  came 
to  pass,  when  the  man  of  God  saw  her  afar  off*,  that 
he  said  to  Gehazi  his  servant,  Behold  yonder  is  that 
Shunamite;  run  now,  I  pray  thee,  to  meet  her,  and 
say  unto  her,  Is  it  well  with  thee  ?  is  it  well  with  thy 
husband  ?  is  it  well  with  the  child  ? — and  she  answered, 


*  Cox. 


LADY  OF  SHUNEM. 


185 


It  is  well.’  1  Some  have  considered  this  merely  as  an 
evasive  answer,  made  for  the  purpose  of  avoiding  con¬ 
versation  with  Gehazi,  with  whom  she  did  not  wish 
to  enter  into  the  particulars  of  her  present  situation. 
This,  however,  is  an  improbable  interpretation,  be¬ 
cause  it  would  by  no  means  comport  with  the  general 
integrity  of  her  character,  nor  with  the  respect  which 
was  due,  and  which  we  know  she  cherished,  for  the 
prophet.  This  was  doubtless  the  message  with  which 
Gehazi  returned  to  his  master,  who,  from  his  ignorance 
of  her  precise  circumstances,  could  not,  till  her  own 
subsequent  explanation,  comprehend  the  elevated 
sentiments  implied  in  such  a  general  reply.  A  pious 
mind,  in  similar  circumstances,  would  not  hesitate  to 
affirm,  £  it  is  well ,’ — well  with  the  living — well  with 
the  dead — well  with  those  who,  notwithstanding  all 
their  bereavements,  are  under  the  care  of  heaven  and 
enjoy  the  smiles  of  God — icell  with  those  whose  dis¬ 
embodied  spirits,  escaped  from  the  imprisonment  of 
time,  have  ascended  to  the  unfettered  freedom,  the 
unbounded  felicity  of  eternity. 

{In  this  view  the  Shunamite  recognized  the  sover¬ 
eignty  of  God ;  his  indisputable  right  to  dispose  of 
her  and  her  affairs  as  he  pleased.  1  Shall  the  clay  say 
to  him  that  formed  it,  What  doest  thou?’  The  un¬ 
bending  temper  of  infidelity  will,  perhaps,  receive  this 


186 


RELIGIOUS  SOUVENIR. 


as  ‘a  hard  saying;’  but  it  is  affirmed  in  the  inspired 
page,  and  must  ever  be  admitted  by  him  who  is  in  his 
1  right  mind.’  Uncontrollable  power,  acting  irrespec¬ 
tively  of  wisdom  or  goodness,  would  be  indeed  a 
terrific  idea,  and  must  issue  in  a  state  of  universal 
anarchy ;  but  the  'perfection  of  that  Infinite  Being, 
who  1  sitteth  upon  the  circle  of  the  earth,’  secures  the 
righteous  exercise  of  the  most  irresistible  authority  ; 
and  of  this  we  may  ever  be  assured,  that  although  his 
arm  is  omnipotent,  it  is  never  unmerciful. 

1  The  Shunamite  intended  also  to  express  her  con¬ 
fidence  in  the  goodness  of  God,  however  disguised  by 
the  afflictive  nature  of  his  dispensations.  In  a  proper 
state  of  mind  it  will  not  be  requisite,  in  order  to  pro¬ 
duce  resignation,  that  we  should  comprehend  the 
whole  design  of  every  sorrow.  We  should  bow  to  the 
mysteriousness  of  the  event ;  and  the  patience  of  en¬ 
durance  will  not  depend  on  the  full  development 
and  explanation  of  the  mystery.  Whether  events 
accord  with  our  wishes  or  oppose  them,  1  it  is  the 
Lord'  will  bring  us  to  silence  and  submission.’* 

1  And  when  she  came  to  the  man  of  God  to  the  hill, 
she  caught  him  by  the  feet,  but  Gehazi  came  near  to 
thrust  her  away,’  perhaps  accounting  that  she  was 


*  Cox. 


LADY  OF  SHUNEM. 


187 


deranged.  ‘  And  the  man  of  God  said,  Let  her  alone, 
her  soul  is  vexed  within  her,  and  the  Lord  hath  hid  it 
from  me,  and  hath  not  told  me.’  1  Then  she  said,  Did 
I  desire  a  son  of  my  lord  ?  did  I  not  say,  Do  not 
deceive  me  ?’  At  these  words  uttered  in  the  tone  of 
deep  maternal  anguish,  the  prophet,  though  untold, 
caught  the  idea,  and  without  waiting  for  further  in¬ 
quiry,  but  anxious  to  render  the  service  which  she 
seemed  to  require — 1  then  said  he  to  Gehazi  his  servant, 
gird  thy  loins,  and  take  my  staff  in  thine  hand,  and 
go  thy  way;  if  thou  meet  any  man,  salute  him  not, 
and  if  any  salute  thee,  answer  him  not  again;  and 
lay  my  staff  upon  the  face  of  the  child.’  The  afflicted 
and  heart-stricken  mother,  however,  could  not  be 
satisfied  with  this  result  of  her  cheerless  and  weari¬ 
some  journey;  there  was  something  in  her  heart 
which  told  her  that  this  commission  of  the  servant  of 
the  prophet  would  be  unavailing;  and,  with  the 
perseverance  which  nothing  but  the  agony  of  a 
mother’s  love  could  have  excused,  she  importunes 
the  prophet,  ‘  as  the  Lord  liveth,  and  as  thy  soul 
liveth,  I  will  not  leave  thee.’  Overcome  by  an  appeal 
like  this,  from  one  who  had  rendered  him  so  many 
kindnesses,  Elisha  made  no  resistance  to  her  impor¬ 
tunities  :  he  arose  and  accompanied  her  to  Shunem. 

Meanwhile,  Gehazi,  zealous  to  do  the  will  of  his 


188 


RELIGIOUS  SOUVENIR. 


master,  and  doubtless  himself  animated  by  a  gratitude 
somewhat  similar,  hastened  on  his  errand  ;  1  he  passed 
on  before  them,  and  laid  the  staff  upon  the  face  of  the 
child.’  The  errand  was  without  success;  no  signs  of 
returning  animation  could  be  discovered,  ‘  there  was 
neither  voice  nor  hearing.’  Disappointed  in  his  com¬ 
mission,  the  faithful  Gehazi  returned  to  carry  the 
unwelcome  tidings  to  his  master ;  but  he  had  not  gone 
far  beyond  the  gate  of  Shunem,  when  he  met  with 
the  afflicted  mother.  There  needed  no  language  to 
speak  to  her  heart  that  his  errand  had  been  unsuccess¬ 
ful  ;  she  saw  it  with  the  instinctive  quickness  of  the 
mother,  in  the  sad  countenance  and  tearful  eye ;  but, 
to  his  master,  Gehazi  said,  ‘  the  child  is  not  waked.’ 

Did  it  hasten  the  riding  of  Elisha  ?  he  needed  no  fresh 
stimulus.  As  soon  as  he  reached  the  house,  he  went 
into  his  accustomed  chamber,  and  there,  on  his  own 
bed,  did  he  behold  the  pale  and  lovely  corpse  of  the 
child  of  his  benefactress.  But  one  resort  had  the 
prophet.  He  knew,  that  in  the  hands  of  the  Lord 
are  the  issues  of  life  ;  if  it  is  the  Lord  who  gives,  it 
is  the  Lord  who  takes  away,  and  it  is  the  Lord  who 
can  return  the  gift  he  has  withdrawn.  By  the  bed,  on 
which  lay  the  cold  and  lifeless  body  of  this  child  of 
promise,  did  he  kneel  and  pour  out  his  soul  before  his 
God.  He  prayed  that  he,  in  whom  is  life,  would 


ime  SHIR  €bJSIB¥I<!M5®ffraE 


LADY  OF  SHUNEM. 


189 


enable  him  to  bring  the  soul  of  the  child  back  to 
its  deserted  body.  Directed  by  the  Lord,  to  whom 
he  had  looked  for  counsel,  he  laid  his  own  warm 
bosom  on  the  cold  body  of  the  child,  kissed  his  cold 
lips,  and  sought  by  every  means  to  impart  to  the 
body  the  animal  warmth  of  his  own  body,  and  it  was 
with  inexpressible  delight  that  he  found  the  body  of 
the  child  grow  warm.  But  still  there  was  no  life.  In 
the  spirit  of  prayer,  he  walked  to  and  fro  for  a  time, 
and  then  tried  the  process  again,  and  then  was  he 
cheered  with  signs  of  returning  life  ;  and  soon  did  he 
see  those  eyes  on  which  the  death-seal  had  been  set 
open  once  more  to  the  light  of  life.  God  had  heard 
his  prayers  :  1  Gehazi,  call  this  Shunamite.’  On  the 
instant  she  rushed  into  the  room,  and  the  prophet 
gave  to  her  arms  her  living  son,  restored  by  the 
power  of  his  God,  in  answer  to  the  fervency  and 
faithfulness  of  his  prayers. 

With  a  gratitude  too  full  for  utterance  she  fell  at 
the  prophet’s  feet,  and  then  1  she  took  her  son  and 
went  o\it’  to  indulge,  in  the  privacy  of  her  own  apart¬ 
ments,  those  hallowed  and  indescribable  feelings  which 
none  but  a  mother  knows.  We  presume  not  to  in¬ 
trude  on  that  privacy. 

Is  there  a  mother  who  has  deigned  to  read  this 
narrative,  and  has  that  mother  wept  on  the  bosom  of 
N 


190 


RELIGIOUS  SOUVENIR. 


some  darling  child,  whom  God  hath  taken  to  himself? 
These  are  no  days  of  miracle,  but  dost  thou  not  know 
that  thy  child  shall  rise  again  from  the  dead  ?  Let 
thine  own  heart  be  given  to  God,  and  then  thou  shalt 
meet  thy  darling  one,  never  to  be  separated. 


191 


PASSAGES. 

I  have  seen  all  the  works  that  are  clone  under  the  sun ;  and 
behold,  all  is  vanity  and  vexation  of  spirit. 

Eccl.  I.  17. 

Ask  of  the  dreams  which  come  to  bless 
Life’s  early  and  unsullied  hours; 

Which  scatter  o’er  its  wilderness 
Their  golden  sunshine  and  their  flowers  : — 
Ask  why  their  magic  whispering 
Of  hope  and  promise  to  the  heart, 

Breathing  in  balm,  like  winds  of  spring — 

Why  do  they  all  so  soon  depart  ? 

Earth  has  no  light  which  lingers  on, 

When  time’s  triumphant  surge  goes  by; 

How  soon  the  magic  hues  are  gone 
That  flush  in  childhood’s  cloudless  sky. 

The  hues  of  joy  !  their  spring-like  glow 
Is  like  a  sunbeam  on  the  wave  : 


192 


RELIGIOUS  SOUVENIR. 


Ere  grief  comes  forth  her  pall  to  throw 
On  pleasure’s  chill  and  lonely  grave. 

Fame,  youth,  and  hope  of  earthly  bliss, 
How  quickly  are  their  visions  fled  ! 

And  the  heart  broods  in  loneliness, 
Above  the  slumbers  of  the  dead  : 
Friends,  kindred  sink  in  that  lone  sleep 
Which  must  to  all  in  darkness  come, 
When  death’s  cold  pinions  oversweep 
The  voiceless  chambers  of  the  tomb. 

Ask,  of  that  blest  and  blessing  king 
Who  reigned  in  proud  Jerusalem, 

Why  o’er  the  joys  that  earth  could  bring 
He  poured  the  mournful  requiem? 

All  hopes  were  his  ; — all  that  the  earth 
Could  bring  to  bless  his  longing  soul : 
The  hours  of  love — the  songs  of  mirth — 
The  race  that  led  to  honour’s  goal. 

He  basked  in  the  luxuriant  light 
Which  beams  from  woman’s  kindly  eye, 
And  health  and  peace  and  visions  bright 
Came  to  his  spirit,  wild  and  high ; 


PASSAGES. 


There  was  no  blessing  not  his  own, 

No  pleasure  which  he  left  untried; 

Justice  and  wisdom  marked  his  throne, 
And  each  decision  sanctified. 

The  voice  of  fame  was  in  his  ear, 

His  name  to  distant  lands  was  borne  ; 

How  are  its  clarion-breathings  dear 
In  being’s  bland  and  early  morn! 

And  queenly  heads  low  at  his  feet, 

In  orient  beauty  came  and  bowed, 

His  honour  and  his  reign  to  greet, 

His  temple,  swelling  high  and  proud  ! 

Gold,  pearls  and  treasure  were  his  dower, 
Gardens  of  beauty  and  perfume; 

He  worshipped  love  in  summer  bower, 
Informs  of  loveliness  and  bloom; 

Around  him  lay  one  joyous  scene 
Of  unalloyed  and  calm  delight; 

The  earth  laughed  out  in  robes  of  green, 
And  heaven’s  blue  arch  was  bathed  in  light 

And  on  the  rich  and  silver  air, 

Voluptuous  music  poured  its  strain, 


194 


RELIGIOUS  SOUVENIR. 


And  in  his  path  the  young  and  fair 
Scattered  their  roses  in  his  train  ; 

All  that  could  bless  the  ardent  soul 
From  earth  was  in  his  chalice  blent, — 

His  pleasures  were  without  control 
And  boundless  as  the  firmament. 

Yet  it  was  vain  !  upon  his  eye 
The  bowers  of  earthly  joy  grew  dim ; 

The  fountain  lost  its  melody, 

It  had  no  gladsome  voice  for  him  ; 

Woman  with  smiles — the  teeming  earth, 
The  winds  with  fragrance  on  their  wings, 
Burdened  with  sweet  and  blended  mirth, 
And  dallying  with  iEolian  strings  : 

These  had  no  charm;  the  song,  the  glee, 
The  praises  of  the  multitude  ; 

The  wild  bird’s  warbled  melody, 

Stealing  o’er  flowers  with  gems  bedewed  : 
All,  all  were  vanity  :  the  glow, 

The  sunlight  of  the  wide  world’s  smile, 
With  all  the  phantoms  they  bestow, 

Had  naught  which  could  the  heart  beguile. 


PASSAGES. 


195 


And  shall  man  worship  with  the  crowd 
At  the  cold  earth’s  illusive  shrine, 

When  monarchs,  born  to  pleasure,  bowed 
And  turned  in  sadness  to  repine  ? 

Oh,  let  us  seek  the  better  part, 

The  fields  and  crystal  waters  given ; 

And  bind  that  promise  to  the  heart, 

Which  breathes  the  enduring  joys  of  heaven. 

W.  G.  C. 

Philadelphia. 


196 


RELIGIOUS  SOUVENIR. 


COUNSELS  OF  THE  AGED  TO  THE 

YOUNG. 

A  JVeio  Year's  Present. 

It  is  a  matter  of  serious  regret,  that  young  persons 
are  commonly  so  little  disposed  to  listen  to  the  advice 
of  the  aged.  This  prejudice  seems  to  have  its  origin 
in  an  apprehension,  that  austerity  and  rigour  naturally 
belong  to  advanced  years;  and  that  the  loss  of  all 
susceptibility  of  pleasure  from  those  scenes  and  objects 
which  afford  delight  to  the  young  produces  some¬ 
thing  of  an  ill-natured  or  envious  feeling  towards 
them.  Now,  it  cannot  be  denied,  that  some  of  the 
aged  are  chargeable  with  the  fault  of  being  too  rigid 
in  exacting  from  youth  the  same  steady  gravity, 
which  is  becoming  in  those  who  have  lived  long,  and 
have  had  much  experience  in  the  world :  not  remem- 


COUNSELS  TO  THE  YOUNG. 


197 


bering,  that  the  constitutional  temperament  of  these 
two  periods  of  human  life  is  very  different.  In 
youth,  the  spirits  are  buoyant,  the  susceptibilities 
lively,  the  affections  ardent,  and  the  hopes  sanguine. 
To  the  young,  every  thing  in  the  world  wears  the 
garb  of  freshness ;  and  the  novelty  and  variety  of 
the  scenes  presented  keep  up  a  constant  excitement. 
These  traits  of  youthful  character,  as  long  as  irregu¬ 
larity  and  excess  are  avoided,  are  not  only  allowable, 
but  amiable ;  and  would  in  that  age  be  badly  ex¬ 
changed  for  the  more  sedate  and  grave  emotions  which 
are  the  natural  effects  of  increasing  years  and  of  long 
and  painful  experience.  But  it  is  greatly  to  be  desired, 
that  the  lessons  of  wisdom  taught  by  the  experience 
of  one  set  of  men,  should  be  made  available  to  the  in¬ 
struction  of  those  who  come  after  them.  We  have, 
therefore,  determined  to  address  a  few  short  hints  of 
advice  to  the  rising  generation,  on  subjects  of  deep 
and  acknowledged  importance  to  all ;  but  previously 
to  commencing,  we  would  assure  them,  that  it  is  no 
part  of  our  object  to  interfere  with  their  innocent 
enjoyments,  or  to  deprive  them  of  one  pleasure  which 
cannot  be  shown  to  be  injurious  to  their  best  interests. 
We  wish  to  approach  you,  dear  youth,  in  the  character 
of  affectionate  friends,  rather  than  in  that  of  dogmati¬ 
cal  teachers  or  stern  reprovers.  We  would,  there- 


198 


RELIGIOUS  SOUVENIR. 


fore,  solicit  your  patient,  candid  and  impartial  atten¬ 
tion  to  the  following  counsels. 

I. 

Resolve  to  form  your  lives  upon  some  certain 
principles,  and  to  regulate  your  actions  by  fixed  rules  ? 
Man  was  made  to  be  governed  by  reason,  and  not  by 
mere  accident  or  caprice.  It  is  important,  therefore, 
that  you  begin  early  to  consider  and  inquire,  what  is 
the  proper  course  of  human  conduct,  and  to  form 
some  plan  for  your  future  lives.  The  want  of  such 
consideration  is  manifest  in  the  conduct  of  multitudes. 
They  are  governed  by  the  impulse  of  the  moment,, 
reckless  of  consequences.  They  have  fixed  no  steady 
aim,  and  have  adopted  no  certain  principles  of  action. 
Living  thus  at  random,  it  would  be  a  miracle  if  they 
went  uniformly  right.  In  order  to  your  pursuing  a 
right  path,  you  must  know  what  it  is,  and  to  acquire 
this  knowledge,  you  must  divest  yourselves  of 
thoughtless  giddiness,  you  must  take  time  for  serious 
reflection.  It  will  not  answer,  to  adopt  without  con¬ 
sideration  the  opinions  of  those  who  may  be  about 
you;  for  they  may  have  some  sinister  design  in  regard 
to  you;  or  they  may  themselves  be  misled  by  error 
or  prejudice.  Persons  already  involved  in  dissipa¬ 
tion,  or  entangled  in  error,  naturally  desire  to  keep 


COUNSELS  TO  THE  YOUNG. 


199 


themselves  in  countenance,  by  the  number  of  followers 
whom  they  can  seduce  into  the  paths  of  vice.  As 
reasonable  creatures,  therefore,  judge  for  yourselves 
what  course  it  is  right  and  fitting  that  you  should 
pursue.  Exercise  your  own  reason  independently  and 
impartially,  and  give  not  yourselves  up  to  be  governed 
by  mere  caprice  and  fashion,  or  by  the  opinions  of 
others. 


II. 

While  you  are  young,  avail  yourselves  of  every 
opportunity  of  acquiring  useful  knowledge.  Reason 
should  guide  us :  but  without  correct  knowledge 
reason  is  useless;  just  as  the  -most  perfectly  formed 
eye  would  be  useless,  without  light.  There  is  in 
every  man  a  natural  thirst  for  knowledge,  which 
needs  only  to  be  cultivated  and  rightly  directed. 
All  have  not  equal  opportunities  of  obtaining  impor¬ 
tant  knowledge :  but  all  have  more  advantages  for 
this  object  than  they  improve.  The  sources  of  in¬ 
formation  are  innumerable:  the  principal,  however, 
are  books  and  living  men.  In  regard  to  the  former, 
no  age  of  the  world  which  has  passed,  was  so  favoured 
with  a  multiplicity  of  books  as  our  own.  Indeed,  the 
very  number,  and  diversity  of  character  and  tendency 
of  authors  now  creates  one  of  the  most  obvious 


200 


RELIGIOUS  SOUVENIR. 


difficulties  to  those  who  are  destitute  of  wise  advisers. 
It  would  be  an  unwise  counsel,  to  tell  you  to  read 
indiscriminately  whatever  comes  to  hand.  The  press 
gives  circulation  not  only  to  useful  knowledge,  but 
to  error  dressed  up  plausibly  in  the  garb  of  truth. 
Many  books  are  useless,  others  are  on  the  whole 
injurious,  and  some  are  impregnated  with  a  deadly 
poison.  Waste  not  your  time  in  works  of  idle  fiction. 
Touch  not  the  book  which  tends  to  present  vice  in  an 
alluring  form.  Seek  the  advice  of  judicious  friends 
in  the  choice  of  books. 

But  you  may  also  learn  much  from  listening  to  the 
conversation  of  the  wise  and  good.  There  is  scarcely  a 
person  so  ignorant,  who  has  lived  any  time  in  the 
world,  that  cannot  communicate  some  profitable  hint 
to  the  young.  Avail  yourselves,  then,  of  every  oppor¬ 
tunity  of  learning  what  you  do  not  know;  and  let  not 
pride  prevent  you  from  seeking  instruction,  lest  by 
this  means  you  should  betray  your  ignorance.  Cher¬ 
ish  the  desire  of  knowledge,  and  keep  your  mind  con¬ 
stantly  awake,  and  open  to  instruction,  from  every 
quarter. 


III. 

Be  careful  to  form  good  habits.  Almost  all  per¬ 
manent  habits  are  contracted  in  youth ;  and  these  do 


COUNSELS  TO  THE  YOUNG. 


201 


in  fact  form  the  character  of  the  man  through  life.  It  is 
Paley,  I  believe,  who  remarks,  that  we  act  from  habit 
nine  times,  where  we  do  once  from  deliberation.  Little 
do  young  persons  apprehend  the  momentous  conse¬ 
quences  of  many  of  their  most  frequently  repeated  ac¬ 
tions.  Some  habits  are  merely  inconvenient,  but  have 
no  moral  quality :  others  affect  the  principles  of  our 
conduct ;  and  become  sources  of  good  or  evil,  to  an 
incalculable  degree.  As  to  the  former,  they  should  be 
avoided,  as  detracting  from  our  comfort,  and  as 
ultimately  interfering  with  our  usefulness;  but  the 
latter  should  be  deprecated,  as  laying  the  foundation 
of  a  wicked  character,  and  as  standing  in  the  way  of 
all  mental  and  moral  improvement. 

IV. 

Be  particular  and  select  in  the  company  which 
you  keep,  and  the  friendships  which  you  form.  1  Tell 
me,’  says  the  proverb,  {  what  company  you  keep,  and 
I  will  tell  you  what  you  are.’  1  Evil  communications 
corrupt  good  manners.’  Vice  is  more  easily  and  ex¬ 
tensively  diffused  by  improper  companions,  than  by 
all  other  means.  As  one  infected  sheep  communicates 
disease  to  a  whole  flock ;  so  one  sinner  often  destroys 
much  good,  by  corrupting  all  the  youth  who  fall  under 
his  influence.  When  vicious  men  are  possessed  of 


202 


RELIGIOUS  SOUVENIR. 


wit  and  fascinating  manners,  their  conversation  is 
most  dangerous  to  the  young.  We  would  entreat 
you,  dear  young  friends,  to  form  an  intimacy  with  no 
one  whose  principles  are  suspicious.  The  friendship  of 
profligate  men  is  exceedingly  dangerous.  Listen  not 
to  their  fair  speeches,  and  warm  professions  of  attach¬ 
ment.  Fly  from  contact  with  them,  as  from  one  in¬ 
fected  with  the  plague.  Form  no  close  alliance  with 
such.  No  more  think  of  taking  them  to  your  bosom, 
than  you  would  a  viper.  Gaze  not  on  their  beauty, 
nor  suffer  yourselves  to  be  charmed  with  the  fascina¬ 
tion  of  their  manners.  Under  these  specious  appear¬ 
ances,  a  deleterious  poison  lurks. 

‘  Be  not  unequally  yoked  together  with  unbelievers/ 
is  the  exhortation  of  scripture.  And  what  can  be 
more  unseemly  and  incongruous,  than  for  an  amiable 
and  virtuous  woman  to  be  indissolubly  united  to  an 
unprincipled  debauchee?  Or,  for  a  good  man  to  be 
connected  with  a  woman  destitute  of  piety  and  virtue  ? 
Be  especially  careful,  therefore,  in  forming  alliances 
for  life.  Seek  a  connection  with  the  wise  and  good, 
and  you  will  become  wiser  and  better  by  converse 
with  such. 

V. 

Exercise  incessant  vigilance  against  the  dangers 


COUNSELS  TO  THE  YOUNG. 


203 


and  temptations  by  which  you  are  surrounded,  and 
by  which  you  will  certainly  be  assailed.  These 
dangers  are  too  numerous  to  be  specified  in  detail : 
but  I  will  mention  a  few.  Guard  solicitously  against 
all  approaches  towards  infidelity.  Reject  unbelieving 
thoughts  and  sceptical  doubts  from  the  beginning. 
Even  if  the  system  of  infidelity  were  true,  it  promises 
no  comfort,  and  cannot  possibly  be  serviceable  to  you. 
But  the  best  security  will  be  to  study  diligently  the 
evidences  of  religion,  and  be  ready  to  meet  the  cavils 
of  infidelity  at  all  points.  Make  yourselves  well  ac¬ 
quainted  with  the  best  authors  on  this  subject,  and  let 
your  faith  rest  on  the  firm  ground  of  evidence. 

Another  danger  against  which  you  must  be  watch¬ 
ful,  is  pleasure — sensual  pleasure.  Worldly  amuse¬ 
ments,  however  innocent  they  may  appear,  are  replete 
with  hidden  dangers.  These  scenes  exhilarate  the 
spirits,  and  excite  the  imagination,  until  reason  and 
conscience  are  hushed,  and  the  real  end  of  living  is 
forgotten.  For  the  sake  of  pleasure,  every  thing  im¬ 
portant  and  sacred  is  neglected,  and  the  most 
valuable  part  of  human  life  wasted  in  unprofitable 
engagements.  Beware  then  of  the  vortex  of  dissipa¬ 
tion,  and  especially  of  the  least  approach  towards  the 
gulf  of  intemperance.  On  that  slippery  ground,  many 
strong  men  have  fallen,  never  to  rise.  The  trophies  of 
this  insidious  and  destructive  vice  are  widely  spread 


204 


RELIGIOUS  SOUVENIR. 


on  every  side,  and  the  wise  and  good  have  come  to  the 
conclusion,  that  there  is  no  effectual  security  against 
this  enemy,  but  in  a  resolute  and  persevering  absti¬ 
nence  from  inebriating  drink.  Seek  your  happiness, 
dear  youth,  in  the  pursuit  of  useful  objects,  and  in  the 
performance  of  duty,  and  then  you  will  be  safe,  and 
will  have  no  reason  to  envy  the  votaries  of  sensual 
pleasure. 


VI. 

Live  not  merely  for  yourselves,  but  also  for  the 
good  of  others.  Selfishness  contracts  the  soul,  and 
hardens  the  heart.  The  man  absorbed  in  selfish  pur¬ 
suits  is  incapable  of  the  sweetest,  noblest  joys,  of  which 
our  nature  is  susceptible.  The  author  of  our  being 
has  ordained  laws,  according  to  which  the  most  exqui¬ 
site  pleasure  is  connected,  not  with  the  direct  pursuit 
of  our  own  happiness,  but  with  the  exercise  of 
benevolence.  On  this  principle  it  is,  that  he  who 
labours  wholly  for  the  benefit  of  others,  and  as  it  were 
forgets  himself,  is  far  happier  than  the  man  who  makes 
himself  the  centre  of  all  his  affections,  the  sole  object 
of  all  his  exertions.  On  this  principle  it  was,  that  our 
Saviour  said,  1  it  is  more  blessed  to  give,  than  to  re¬ 
ceive.’  Resolve,  therefore,  to  lead  lives  of  usefulness. 
Be  indifferent  to  nothing  which  has  any  relation  to 


COUNSELS  TO  THE  YOUNG. 


205 


the  welfare  of  men.  Be  not  afraid  of  diminishing 

□ 

your  own  happiness,  by  seeking  that  of  others.  De¬ 
vise  liberal  things,  and  let  not  avarice  shut  up  your 
hand  from  giving  to  him  that  needeth,  and  to  promote 
the  cause  of  piety  and  humanity. 

VII. 

Endeavour  to  acquire  and  maintain  a  good  repu¬ 
tation.  1 A  good  name  is  rather  to  be  chosen  than 
great  riches.’  A  ruined  fortune  may  be  recovered,  a 
lost  reputation  never.  Young  men  are  often  laying 
the  foundation  of  an  unenviable  reputation,  while  they 
are  thinking  of  no  such  thing.  They  never  dream 
that  the  character  which  they  attain  at  school  or  col¬ 
lege  will  probably  be  as  lasting  as  life.  The  youth 
who  is  known  to  be  addicted  to  falsehood,  knavery, 
treachery,  &c.,  when  arrived  at  the  age  of  man,  will 
be  viewed  by  those  who  know  him  with  distrust.  A 
stain  on  the  character  is  not  easily  washed  out ;  at  a 
distant  period,  the  faults  and  follies  of  youth  may  be 
revived  to  a  man’s  confusion  and  injury.  But,  es¬ 
pecially,  is  the  female  character  exquisitely  delicate. 
A  small  degree  of  imprudence  will  often  fix  a  stigma 
on  the  gay  young  lady,  which  no  subsequent  sobriety 
can  completely  erase. 

We  do  not  mean,  that  the  young  should  cherish  a 


o 


206 


RELIGIOUS  SOUVENIR. 


false  sense  of  honour,  which  would  lead  them  to  fight 
and  contend  for  reputation.  No  man  ever  secured  or 
increased  a  good  name,  by  shedding  the  vital  blood  of 
a  human  being.  The  reputation  which  we  recom¬ 
mend  must  arise  from  a  life  of  consistent  and  uniform 
well-doing.  Prize  such  a  character,  as  of  inestimable 
value  to  your  own  peace,  and  as  a  most  powerful 
means  of  usefulness.  The  most  potent  human  engine 
of  utility  is  influence;  and  this  depends  entirely  on 
reputation. 


VIII. 

Let  your  intercourse  with  men  be  marked  by 
a  strict  and  conscientious  regard  to  truth,  honour, 
justice,  kindness  and  courtesy.  We  should  certainly 
have  recommended  politeness,  as  a  happy  means  of 
polishing  social  intercourse,  and  affording  pleasure  to 
those  with  whom  you  are  conversant :  but  many  are 
accustomed  to  connect  an  unpleasant  idea  with  this 
word.  But,  surely,  genuine  politeness,  if  not  itself  a 
virtue,  spreads  a  charm  and  a  beauty  over  that  which 
is  virtuous.  And,  certainly,  there  is  no  merit  in 
awkwardness  and  clownishness.  But  our  chief  object 
under  this  particular  is  to  urge  upon  you  a  constant 
and  punctilious  regard  to  the  social  virtues.  Be 
honest,  be  upright,  sincere,  men  of  your  word,  faith- 


COUNSELS  TO  THE  YOUNG. 


207 


ful  to  every  trust,  kind  to  every  body,  respectful  where 
respect  is  due,  generous  according  to  your  ability, 
grateful  for  benefits  received,  and  delicate  in  the 
mode  of  conferring  favours.  Let  your  integrity  be 
unsuspected.  Never  resort  to  any  mean  or  underhand 
measures :  but  let  your  conduct  and  conversation  be 
characterised  by  frankness  and  candour,  by  forbear¬ 
ance,  and  a  spirit  of  indulgence  and  forgiveness.  In 
short,  ‘  do  unto  others  as  you  would  have  them  do 
unto  you.’ 


IX. 

Be  faithful  and  conscientious  in  the  discharge 
of  all  duties  which  arise  out  of  the  relations  which 
you  sustain  to  others.  Relative  duties  are  far  more 
numerous  than  all  others }  because  the  occasions  re¬ 
quiring  their  performance  are  constantly  occurring. 
The  duties  of  parents,  of  children,  of  brothers  and 
sisters,  of  neighbours,  of  masters  and  servants,  of 
teachers  and  pupils,  of  magistrates  and  citizens,  of  the 
learned  professions,  of  trade,  of  the  rich  and  the  poor, 
occupy  a  very  large  portion  of  the  time  and  attention 
of  every  man.  And  these  furnish  the  proper  test  of 
character.  1  He  who  is  faithful  in  little,  is  faithful  also 
in  much.’  And  he  who  is  not  attentive  to  the  daily 
recurring  duties  of  his  station,  in  vain  claims  the 


208 


RELIGIOUS  SOUVENIR. 


reputation  of  virtue  or  piety,  by  splendid  acts  of  pub¬ 
lic  beneficence.  1  Though  I  give  all  my  goods  to  feed 
the  poor  and  have  not  charity,  it  profitethme  nothing.’ 

X. 

Be  contented  with  the  station  and  circumstances 
in  which  Providence  has  placed  you.  Never  repine 
at  God’s  dealings  towards  you,  nor  envy  those  who 
are  above  you  in  worldly  advantages.  Consider  not 
so  much  what  you  want,  as  what  you  have  ;  and  look 
less  at  those  above  you,  than  at  those  in  inferior  cir¬ 
cumstances.  Accustom  yourselves  to  look  on  the 
bright,  rather  than  the  dark  side  of  the  picture. 
Indulge  not  in  unreasonable  fears,  nor  give  way  to 
feelings  of  despondency.  Exercise  fortitude,  and 
maintain  tranquillity  of  mind.  Be  not  ruffled  and  dis¬ 
concerted  by  every  little  cross  event  which  may  occur. 
Place  not  your  happiness  at  the  disposal  of  every  one 
who  may  be  disposed  to  speak  an  unkind  word,  or  do 
an  unhandsome  thing.  Learn  to  possess  your  souls 
in  patience,  believing  that  when  appearances  are 
darkest,  the  dawn  of  a  more  comfortable  day  is  near. 

XI. 

Cherish  and  diligently  cultivate  genuine  piety. 
1  The  fear  of  the  Lord  is  the  beginning  of  wisdom.’ 


COUNSELS  TO  THE  YOUNG. 


209 


Early  piety  is  the  most  beautiful  spectacle  in  the 
world.  Without  piety  all  your  morality,  however 
useful  to  men,  is  but  a  shadow.  It  is  a  branch 
without  a  root.  Religion,  above  every  other  acquisi¬ 
tion,  enriches  and  adorns  the  mind  of  man ;  and  it  is 
especially  congenial  with  the  natural  susceptibilities 
of  the  youthful  mind.  The  vivacity  and  versatility  of 
youth,  the  tenderness  and  ardour  of  the  affections  in 
this  age,  exhibit  piety  to  the  best  advantage.  How 
delightful  is  it,  to  see  the  bosoms  of  the  young  swell¬ 
ing  with  the  lively  emotions  of  pure  devotion.  How 
beautiful  is  the  tear  of  penitence  or  of  holy  joy 
which  glistens  in  the  eye  of  tender  youth.  Think  not, 
dear  young  people,  that  true  religion  will  detract  from 
your  happiness.  It  is  a  reproach  cast  upon  your 
Maker,  to  indulge  such  a  thought.  It  cannot  be.  A 
God  of  goodness  never  required  any  thing  of  his 
creatures,  which  did  not  tend  to  their  true  felicity. 
Piety  may  indeed  lead  you  to  exchange  the  pleasures 
of  the  theatre  and  ball-room,  for  the  purer  joys  of  the 
church  and  oratory.  It  may  turn  your  attention  from 
books  of  mere  idle  fancy  and  fiction,  to  the  word  of 
God,  which,  to  a  regenerated  soul,  is  found  to  be 
sweeter  than  honey,  and  more  excellent  than  the 
choicest  gold ;  but  this  will  add  to  your  happiness, 
rather  than  diminish  it.  W e  would  then  affectionately 


210 


RELIGIOUS  SOUVENIR. 


and  earnestly  exhort  and  entreat  you,  to  1  remember 
now  your  Creator  in  the  days  of  your  youth.’  This 
will  be  your  best  security  against  all  the  dangers  and 
temptations  to  which  you  are  exposed  ;  this  will  secure 
to  you  ‘  the  favour  of  God  which  is  life,  and  his  loving 
kindness  which  is  better  than  life.’  Delay  not  your 
conversion;  every  day  is  lost  time,  which  is  not 
spent  in  the  service  of  God.  Besides,  procrastination 
has  proved  ruinous  to  many.  Eternity  is  at  hand  ; 
the  judgment  day  must  be  met,  and  how  can  we 
appear  there,  without  piety?  This  is  our  only  pre¬ 
paration  and  passport  for  heaven.  Dear  youth,  be 
wise,  and  secure  an  inheritance  among  the  saints  in 
light.  God  invites  you  to  be  reconciled.  Christ  ex¬ 
tends  his  arms  of  mercy  to  secure  you.  Angels  are 
waiting  to  rejoice  at  your  conversion,  and  to  become 
your  daily  and  nightly  guardians.  The  doors  of  the 
church  will  be  open  to  receive  you.  The  ministers  of 
the  gospel,  and  all  the  company  of  believers  will  hail 
your  entrance,  and  will  welcome  you  to  the  precious 
ordinances  of  God’s  house.  And,  finally,  remember 
that,  1  now  is  the  accepted  time  and  the  day  of  salva¬ 
tion.’ 


XII. 

Our  last  counsel  is,  that  you  seek  divine  direc- 


COUNSELS  TO  THE  YOUNG.  211 

tion  and  aid,  by  incessant,  fervent  prayer.  You  need 
grace  to  help  you  every  day.  Your  own  wisdom  is 
folly,  your  own  strength  weakness,  and  your  own 
righteousness  altogether  insufficient.  ‘  It  is  not  in 
man  that  walketh  to  direct  his  steps.’  But  if  you  lack 
wisdom,  you  are  permitted  to  ask ;  and  you  have  a 
gracious  promise,  that  you  shall  receive.  Whatever 
we  need  will  be  granted,  if  we  humbly  and  believingly 
ask  for  it.  *  Ask  and  ye  shall  receive,  seek  and  ye 
shall  find,  knock  and  it  shall  be  opened  unto  you.’  1  Be 
careful  for  nothing,  but  in  every  thing  with  prayer 
and  supplication,  with  thanksgiving,  let  your  requests 
be  made  known  unto  God.’ 

In  all  your  troubles,  make  God  your  refuge.  Flee 
to  him  by  humble  trust  and  prayer,  and  he  will  hide 
you  under  the  shadow  of  his  wings,  and  in  his  secret 
pavilion,  and  even  in  death  you  shall  fear  no  evil,  for 
Jehovah, your  shepherd,  will  be  present  to  comfort  you. 
And  when  you  shall  have  finished  your  earthly  pil¬ 
grimage,  a  mansion  in  the  heavens  will  await  you; 
Christ,  your  Saviour,  will  receive  your  departing 
spirit,  and  you  shall  go,  to  be  present  with  the  Lord. 

A.  A. 


Princeton. 


212 


RELIGIOUS  SOUVENIR. 


HYMN  OF  THE  REAPERS. 


Our  Father, — to  fields  that  are  white 
For  harvest,  the  sickle  we  bear, 

And  praise  shall  our  voices  unite 

To  Thee,  who  hast  made  them  thy  care 

The  seed  that  was  dropped  in  the  soil, 

We  left  with  a  holy  belief 
In  one  who  was  blessing  the  toil, 

To  crown  it  at  length  with  the  sheaf. 

And  ever  our  faith  shall  be  firm 

In  him  who  was  life  to  the  root — 
Whose  finger  has  led  up  the  germ, 

And  finished  the  blade  and  thje  fruit. 

The  heads  that  are  heavy  with  grain 
Are  bowing  and  asking  to  fall ; 

o  o  / 


HYMN  OF  THE  REAPERS. 

Thy  hand  is  on  mountain  and  plain, 

Thou  Maker  and  Giver  of  all ! 

Thy  favours  are  heaped  on  the  hills, 

The  valleys  thy  goodness  repeat, 

And,  Lord,  ’tis  thy  bounty  that  fills 

The  arms  of  the  reaper  with  wheat. 

O,  when,  with  his  sickle  in  hand, 

Thine  angel  the  mandate  receives, 

To  come  to  thy  field  with  the  band, 

To  bind  up,  and  bear  off  the  sheaves — 

May  we  be  as  free  from  the  blight, 

As  ripe  to  be  taken  away, 

And  fit  for  the  store,  in  thy  sight, 

As  that  we  shall  gather  to-day. 

Our  Father,  the  heart  and  the  voice 

Flow  out  our  fresh  offering  to  yield ! 

The  reapers!  the  reapers  rejoice, 

And  send  up  their  song  from  the  field 

H.  F.  G. 


Newburyport. 


214 


RELIGIOUS  SOUVENIR. 


THE  VISION. 


A  Fragment. 


From  the  top  of  the  Aventine  hill,  I  had  gazed  on 
the  fading  glories  of  an  Italian  sun,  and,  absorbed  in 
my  own  meditations,  twilight  had  shed  its  last  rays 
upon  the  dome  of  St  Peter’s,  when  I  entered  that 
magnificent  monument  of  papal  pomp  and  power. 
It  was  a  season  of  solemn  observance,  and  the  eve 
of  that  day  on  which  the  church  of  Rome  is  accus¬ 
tomed  to  commemorate  the  crucifixion  of  the  Redeemer. 
I  was  the  only  occupant  of  a  scene,  so  soon  to  be 
filled  by  curiosity,  idleness  or  devotion.  A  universal 
stillness  reigned  throughout  the  lofty  pile.  The  few 
lights  which  burned  upon  the  high  altar  shed  but  a 
feeble  radiance  over  the  aisles,  and  added  to  the  reli¬ 
gious  gloom  of  approaching  night.  It  was  natural 
that  my  mind  should  become  solemnized,  and  my 
feelings  elevated,  by  the  hour  and  the  scene.  In 


THE  VISION. 


215 


thought,  I  wandered  from  the  gorgeous  ceremonies  of 
the  Romish  ritual,  which  I  had  often  beheld  and  was 
now  again  to  witness,  to  those  temples  formed  by 
nature,  in  which  I  had  seen  ‘the  inhabitants  of  the 
valley’  offer  up  their  devotions  where  the  arch  of 
heaven  was  their  only  canopy,  and  the  rude  rocks  on 
which  they  knelt  their  only  altar.  The  modest  stee¬ 
ple  of  my  native  village  rose  to  my  imagination  as 
when  I  left  it,  in  the  prime  of  youth,  with  the  tear  and 
blessings  of  a  mother’s  love,  to  gain  that  knowledge 
of  others  which  her  fears  foreboded  might  only  be 
acquired  by  the  sacrifice  of  myself,  and  that  experience 
of  the  world  which  might  only  be  obtained  by  the 
loss  of  the  pious  lessons  she  had  so  well  taught.  In 
the  midst  of  this  train  of  reflection,  I  had  uncon¬ 
sciously  seated  myself  before  that  splendid  production 
of  the  genius  of  Angelo,  in  which,  at  the  awful  catas¬ 
trophe  of  all  sublunary  things,  the  Redeemer  is  pre¬ 
paring  to  announce  the  eternal  doom  of  the  human 
race.  It  was  now,  in  contemplation  of  the  general 
judgment  thus  vividly  figured  to  my  senses  by  human 
art,  that  my  early  religious  impressions,  which  had 
nearly  been  obliterated  by  too  frequent  contact  with 
the  world,  were  again  powerfully  awakened.  My 
feelings  became  agitated,  and  the  solemn  interrogatory 
seemed  forced  upon  my  heart,  by  a  power  which  I  felt 


216 


RELIGIOUS  SOUVENIR. 


to  be  divine,  whether,  at  such  an  hour  and  in  such  a 
scene,  it  would  be  mine  to  receive  the  sentence  of 
eternal  life  or  eternal  death.  I  trembled  beneath  the 
agitation  of  my  thoughts;  reason  for  a  moment  seemed 
to  totter  on  her  throne  ;  the  faculties  of  nature  ceased 
to  perform  their  office  ;  the  impressions  of  sense  be¬ 
came  indistinct;  and  when  my  consciousness  returned, 
I  knew  myself  to  be  in  the  immediate  presence  of  a 
more  than  mortal  being,  and  that  the  voice  of  an  an¬ 
gel  was  permitted  to  impart  the  lesson  of  instruction. 
“  Child  of  frailty,”  he  said,  u  I  am  Asraphel,  the  spirit 
appointed  to  guard  thee  in  thy  state  of  probation ;  to 
counsel,  but  not  compel;  to  guide,  but  not  control; 
to  warn,  but  not  deliver  thee  from  the  snare  of  temp¬ 
tation.  Thou  art  concerned  for  thy  destiny  as  an 
immortal  being,  and  I  am  therefore  commissioned  to 
show  thee  the  path  of  salvation.  Turn  thine  eyes 
upon  the  plain  which  is  extended  before  thee,  and 
meditate  on  what  thou  seest.”  I  looked,  and  saw  in 
the  distance  a  lofty  and  extensive  range  of  mountains, 
whose  shadows  seemed  to  cover  the  wide  champaign. 
The  vapours  of  the  morning  surrounded  their  base, 
and  their  summits  were  buried  in  clouds.  The  still¬ 
ness  was  broken  only  by  the  murmurs  of  a  brook, 
struggling  for  passage  at  the  foot  of  the  hill  which 
projected  farthest  into  the  plain,  and  there  was 


THE  VISION. 


217 


naught,  for  a  time,  to  interrupt  the  universal  solitude. 
But  presently  I  beheld,  and  there  appeared,  advancing 
from  the  western  side  of  the  mountains,  two  forms 
which  arrested  and  fastened  my  attention.  An  old 
man  of  majestic  mien  was  conducting  by  the  hand 
a  youth,  who  alternately  looked  with  inquiry  into 
the  face  of  the  elder,  and  over  the  prospect  which 
lay  before  him.  The  countenance  of  the  sire  was 
serious  but  mild,  melancholy  but  not  sad;  wThile  the 
look  of  the  boy  was  evidently  animated  beyond  its 
usual  expression,  and  his  step  was  elastic  with  the 
impulse  of  expectation. 

On  approaching  the  spot  where  the  stream  broke 
on  the  plain,  I  observed  that  there  was  wood  upon  the 
shoulder  of  the  younger,  and  that  the  knife  in  the 
hand  of  the  elder  was  drawn.  A  question  was  put  by 
the  boy,  of  which  I  heard  not  the  words,  but  a  smile 
played  upon  his  features,  and  his  tone  of  conscious¬ 
ness  evinced  that  he  sought  no  reply.  A  movement 
took  place  between  them,  which  told  me,  that  a  son 
was  preparing  to  obey  the  will  of  a  father.  An  altar 
was  constructed  of  the  materials  which  lay  around 
them ;  the  wood  was  placed  in  order  upon  it,  and  the 
youth  laid  himself  down,  and  suffered  the  cords  in 
his  father’s  hand  to  pass  around  his  body  and  the  pile. 
There  was  the  pause  of  a  moment.  The  right  arm  of 


218 


RELIGIOUS  SOUVENIR. 


the  old  man  was  bared,  the  naked  weapon  was  in  his 
grasp,  his  left  hand  was  laid  upon  the  head  of  the  boy, 
his  countenance  was  raised  to  heaven,  his  features 
were  lighted  with  an  expression  of  the  deepest  devo¬ 
tion  ;  and  I  saw  that  the  father  was  about  to  sacrifice 
the  son.  At  that  moment,  a  noise,  like  the  fall  of 
many  waters,  broke  the  silence  of  the  scene;  a  light 
above  that  of  the  sun,  which  had  just  arisen  on  the 
horizon  and  agitated  the  mist  of  the  mountains, 
irradiated  the  place  around  the  altar,  and  shed  its  glory 
upon  the  victim  and  the  priest.  The  clouds,  which 
encompassed  the  tops  of  the  hills,  concentrated  their 
volume;  and  from  the  midst  there  came  a  voice, 
which  bade  the  father  suspend  his  arm,  and  arrested 
the  stroke  of  death.  Suddenly  the  scene  became 
altered  in  its  character,  but  not  changed.  The  sire 
and  the  son  had  ascended  above  the  eminence  on 
which  the  altar  had  originally  been  built;  the  beams 
of  the  morning  sun  were  brightening  the  whole  extent 
of  the  plain;  and  the  clouds  had  rolled  away  from  the 
sides  of  the  hills.  The  east  alone  appeared  to  be  in 
a  supernatural  darkness,  over  which  the  sun  could 
exert  no  influence,  and  which  my  eye  in  vain  endea¬ 
voured  to  pierce.  I  turned  and  looked  upon  the 
countenance  of  him,  who  had  so  lately  heard  and 
obeyed  the  command  to  spare  his  child.  The  express- 


THE  VISION. 


219 


ion  of  his  face  was  no  longer  such  as  when  he  stood 
by  the  altar,  with  the  instrument  of  death  in  his  hand. 
The  same  appearance  of  devotion  was  there,  but  his 
looks  seemed  to  be  agitated  with  feelings  more  in¬ 
tense.  The  smile  of  joy  was  on  his  lip,  a  more 
than  mortal  brightness  irradiated  his  features,  and  his 
eye  was  fixed  in  a  rapture  of  devotion  upon  an  object 
which  lay  in  the  darkness  before  him.  Again  I  looked, 
and  the  obscurity  appeared  to  break  from  before  my 
vision.  In  the  distance  I  beheld  a  cross.  Around  it 
were  an  innumerable  host  of  beings,  whose  faces 
shone  with  heavenly  benignity;  upon  it  hung  a  form 
whose  lineaments  it  was  not  given  me  to  discern;  and 
on  its  top  was  inscribed  SALVATION  in  letters  of 
blood.  My  soul  was  overwhelmed  with  a  tumult  of 
awe ;  again  my  senses  forsook  their  office;  again  were 
the  faculties  of  nature  suspended,  and  again  were  the 
powers  of  thought  oppressed  with  their  own  weight. 
But  gradually  the  veil  of  insensibility  was  removed, 
and  returning  consciousness  informed  me  that  an 
angel  was  still  beside  me ;  and  the  voice  of  Asraphel 
again  addressed  me.  “  I  have  showed  thee,”  he  said, 
“  the  path  of  eternal  life.  My  power  extends  only 
to  give  thee  an  explanation  of  what  thou  hast  seen ; 
and  already,  while  I  am  speaking,  it  is  impressed  upon 
thy  mind.  Beware,  that  thou  ever  suffer  it  to  be 


220 


RELIGIOUS  SOUVENIR. 


obliterated.  Thou  hast  looked  upon  Abraham,  the 
father  of  the  faithful,  hast  seen  what  he  was  permitted 
to  see,  and  felt  what  he  was  enabled  to  feel.  Thou 
hast  beheld  the  subject  of  faith  and  the  mode  of  its 
exercise.”  “  And  where,”  I  exclaimed,  “  shall  I  find 
it  in  its  greatest  vigour  ?  I  have  wandered  over  the 
countries  of  the  earth,  and  beheld  Christianity  in  its 
different  forms.  To  which  of  the  various  bodies  who 
own  the  name  of  the  Redeemer,  and  claim  salvation 
through  the  cross,  shall  I  unite  myself  on  earth,  in 
the  hope  of  being  united  for  ever  in  heaven?”  “  The 
church  of  Christ,”  said  the  angel,  “is  but  one.” 
“  And  is  there,”  I  exclaimed,  “  but  one  term  of  salva¬ 
tion?”  “  Believe,”  said  the  angel,  “  in  the  Lord  Jesus 
Christ,  and  thou  shalt  be  saved.  Thou  hast  received 
thy  first  lesson  of  wisdom,  awake  and  be  wise.” 

Origejv. 


221 


THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  AUTUMN. 

- The  melancholy  days  are  come,  the  saddest  of  the  year, 

Of  wailing  winds  and  naked  woods,  and  meadows  brown  and 
sere. 

Bryant. 

Days  of  the  yellow  leaf! 

Again  your  shadows  gather  round, 

Where  stood  so  late  the  golden  sheaf 
With  hopes  and  blessings  of  the  reaper  crowned, 
Your  sere  and  withered  trophies  now  usurp  the  ground. 

Days  of  the  wailing  blast! 

Ye  breathe  sad  music  in  your  sigh ; 

Hoarsely  the  waters  murmur  past, 

The  pensive  robin  twitters  plaintively, 

And  screaming  sea-birds  plume  them  for  a  kindlier  sky. 

Days  of  the  brooding  storm  ! 
Cloud-borne,  above  the  leaf-clad  hills, 

p 


222 


RELIGIOUS  SOUVENIR. 


Ye  show  the  tempest-spirit’s  form; 

His  angry  voice  the  mountain  echo  fills  : 

The  wood-bird  cowers,  the  joyous  lark  his  carol  stills. 

Days  of  the  rayless  sun  ! 

Deep  thoughts  ye  wake  within  the  breast; 

Ye  tell  how  near  life’s  course  is  run; 

Your  counsel  bids  the  spirit  know  not  rest, 

Till  it  has  won  a  clime,  with  sunbeams  ever  blessed. 

P.  M.  W. 


223 


THE  DUELLIST. 

Here  read  of  Cain  the  curse  and  crime, 

In  characters  unworn  by  time. 

Byron. 

About  ten  years  since,  I  passed  a  few  days  in  the 
family  of  a  country  friend ;  some  recent  events  have 
revived  my  recollections  of  this  visit,  and  impressed 
them  with  peculiar  interest. 

My  friend  is  a  noble  relic  of  the  old-fashioned 
southern  gentry;  there  is  a  free-hearted  generosity  in 
all  his  sentiments,  an  almost  romantic  delicacy  in  all 
points  of  honourable  feeling.  In  his  youth  he  was  a 
gallant  soldier  and  distinguished  officer;  and  through 
the  rustic  stains  which  have  gradually  obscured  the 
original  elegance  of  his  manners,  occasional  gleams 
of  high  polish  bespeak  the  man  who  ‘camps  and 
courts  had  seen.’ 


224 


RELIGIOUS  SOUVENIR. 


Thirty  years  of  peaceful  retirement  on  his  own 
estate,  and  in  the  bosom  of  a  beloved  family,  have 
imperceptibly  transformed  the  high-spirited  enthusi¬ 
astic  warrior  into  the  amiable,  pacific  country  gentle¬ 
man.  But  a  strong  leven  of  military  views  and 
feelings  still  pervades  the  character  of  my  old  friend; 
and  notwithstanding  the  natural  sweetness  of  his 
temper,  and  the  usual  urbanity  of  his  manners,  the 
slightest  failure  in  customary  punctilio,  makes  ‘the 
angry  spot’  glow  on  his  dark,  wrinkled  brow,  and 
more  than  once  he  has  converted  a  trifling  offence 
into  the  subject  of  a  deadly  feud.  God  in  mercy  has 
spared  him  the  accomplishment  of  murder;  how  far  he 
has  incurred  its  guilt ,  His  righteous  records  alone  can 
determine. 

Yet  he  is  not  without  religious  notions  and  feelings, 
after  his  own  confused  fashion.  A  country  life 
cherishes  that  sentiment  of  natural  religion,  which 
more  or  less  exists  in  every  human  bosom :  accord- 
ingly,  my  friend  has  assured  me  that  often,  when 
walking  forth  in  the  spring  of  the  year,  the  country 
all  brightening  around  him,  the  vernal  hum  of  insects, 
and  gay  songs  of  birds,  have  created  such  a  solemn 
gladness  within  him,  that  before  he  was  aware,  he 
had  reverently  lifted  his  hat  from  his  head,  and  blessed 


THE  DUELLIST. 


225 


God.  Or,  listening  to  the  blustering  autumn  gale, 
over  a  dying  evening  fire,  such  a  sad  seriousness  has 
stolen  upon  him,  that  he  grew  weary  of  the  world, 
with  all  its  day-light  vanities,  and  esteemed  them 
transient  and  unprofitable  as  the  fading  embers  before 
him.  But  this  sentimental  devotion  is  the  natural 
homage  of  a  feeling  heart ;  my  friend  goes  a  step  fur¬ 
ther;  he  is  the  stout  opposer  of  infidelity,  and  has 
often  told  me,  with  the  overflowing  complacency  of  an 
applauding  conscience,  that  he  “  thanked  God  he  was 
no  philosopher,  he  could  heartily  believe  the  Christian 
system,  with  all  its  difficulties.”  Accordingly,  we  find 
the  ‘ big  lia' -Bible1  holding  its  decent  state  upon  his 
parlour  table  ;  and  hither,  when  visited  with  any  un¬ 
common  affliction,  he  is  seen  duly  repairing  for  con¬ 
solation  ;  this  perhaps  being  the  only  occasion  on 
which  its  gilded  pages  are  unfolded  to  the  light. 

Such  was  my  friend  as  I  remember  him  some  ten 
years  since  :  amiable,  dignified  and  graceful  in  all 
the  relations  of  life,  and  possessing  just  so  much 
religion  as  passes  current  with  the  world,  without 
casting  a  solitary  influence  upon  his  own  heart  and 
practice.  The  same  lax  principles  concerning  religion 
pervade  his  parental  character ;  an  amiable  propriety 
is  visible  in  all  the  arrangements  of  his  family,  an 


226 


RELIGIOUS  SOUVENIR. 


anxious  solicitude  in  relation  to  their  moral  and  intel¬ 
lectual  improvement;  religion  alone  is  forgotten — not 
despised,  but  neglected. 

His  son,  a  bold  and  beautiful  boy,  soon  caught  the 
reflection  of  the  leading  traits  of  his  character.  Gaz¬ 
ing  on  his  father’s  sword,  and  listening  to  the  history 
of  all  its  victories,  his  little  bosom  early  swelled  with 
that  incipient  passion  which  was  to  rule  his  future 
destiny ;  and  if  sometimes  a  secret  shudder  passed 
over  his  childish  frame,  as  he  marked  the  dark  blue 
stain  of  blood  upon  its  glittering  blade,  it  was  soon 
succeeded  by  a  thrill  of  boyish  rapture  at  the  recollec¬ 
tion  of  his  father’s  glory.  But  it  was  not  only  the 
story  of  his  honest  fame,  won  in  his  country’s  battles, 
that  was  poured  like  burning  lava  upon  young  Ed¬ 
win’s  ardent,  susceptible  mind ;  the  eager  child  re¬ 
ceived  with  avidity  the  obscurely  hinted  relation  of 
honourable  murder ,  kindling  into  a  kind  of  fierce  but 
troubled  joy,  as  all  its  inflammatory  principles  were 
developed  before  him. 

It  was  a  scene  that  might  have  drawn  tears  of 
mournful  anticipation  from  every  benevolent  and  con¬ 
siderate  observer :  the  rosy  innocence  of  the  happy, 
careless  child,  the  father’s  pride  and  joy,  at  the  very 
moment  that  his  unconscious  lips  distilled  the  fatal 


THE  DUELLIST. 


227 


poison — and  a  little  further  on,  in  melancholy  pros¬ 
pect,  the  bloody  grave  of  youth,  and  quickly  descend¬ 
ing  to  it,  the  gray  hairs  of  broken-hearted  age. 

This  sketch  of  my  friend  was  a  necessary  prelude  to 
the  little  history  which  follows. 

Shady  Grove  was  the  name  which  his  ancestors 
gave  to  the  leafy  forest  beneath  whose  shelter  they 
reared  the  roof-tree  of  their  family:  but  the  woodman’s 
axe  has  gradually  encroached  upon  its  ancient  shadows, 
and  a  narrow  strip  of  woodlands,  pervious  on  every 
side  to  the  sunbeams,  is  its  only  remaining  relic.  Still 
the  name  is  jealously  preserved  by  the  present  pos¬ 
sessor,  who  delights  in  pointing  out  the  mouldering 
stumps,  whose  shaggy  circumference  bespeaks  the 
noble  majesty  of  the  vanished  forest:  and  as  he  views 
these  blackened  remains,  contrasting  verdant  meadows 
of  rustling  rice,  or  gaudy  fields  of  blooming  cotton,  he 
not  unfrequently  indulges  a  strain  of  pensive  moral¬ 
izing  upon  decayed  greatness,  and  upstart  wealth  and 
honour. 

Shady  Grove,  like  most  of  the  country  establish¬ 
ments  of  the  south,  presents  a  strange  combination  of 
elegance  and  meanness,  wealth  and  poverty;  remind¬ 
ing  us  of  those  descriptions  which  travellers  have 
given  us  of  Eastern  cities,  where  the  lordly  shadow  of 


228 


RELIGIOUS  SOUVENIR. 


the  palace  falls  upon  the  uncouth  hovel  of  the  peasant. 
So  it  is  here;  the  lofty  dwelling,  with  its  beautiful 
verandahs,  painted  palisades,  and  universal  elegance 
of  arrangement,  contrasts  strangely  with  the  negro 
village,  which,  close  at  hand,  presents  its  ragged  street 
of  ill-constructed  cabins. 

I  arrived  at  my  friend’s  house  late  in  the  fall  of 
18 — .  A  rich  October  sunset  shed  over  the  scene  that 
pensive,  but  most  exquisite  charm  which  belongs  alone 
to  that  season  of  tender  luxurious  melancholy,  when 
dying  nature  wraps  around  her,  her  loveliest  but  most 
evanescent  drapery.  The  sight  of  my  friend  in  florid 
old  age  excited  a  thousand  accordant  emotions,  and 
though  we  had  both  passed  that  season  of  life  which 
is  marked  by  very  lively  exhibitions  of  feeling,  yet 
the  cordial  grasp  and  glistening  eye,  witnessed  to 
each  other  the  recollected  joys  and  sorrows  of  other 
years. 

I  arrived  in  a  time  of  holyday  sport  and  relaxation : 
the  only  son,  a  youth  of  fourteen,  was  enjoying  his 
first  vacation  at  home :  and  hence  it  was  every  body’s 
business  to  be  happy,  from  my  friend  himself,  seated 
in  his  old  arm-chair,  contriving  pleasures,  to  the  noisy 
negro  rabble  without,  whose  merry  shouts  incessantly 
proclaimed  Master  Edwin’s  return.  There  is  some- 


THE  DUELLIST. 


229 


thing  irresistibly  infectious  in  that  happiness  which 
springs  from  the  affections.  I  soon  felt  its  delightful 
exhilaration ;  indeed  my  friend  in  the  simplicity  of  his 
heart  declared,  that  the  very  cricket  in  the  hearth 
chirped  his  shrill  vesper  in  a  merrier  note  than  usual. 

A  tall,  dark-eyed  youth  was  young  Edwin’s  com¬ 
panion;  his  father,  in  sketching  to  me  the  strength 
and  tenderness  of  their  mutual  affection,  strongly 
reminded  me  of  the  beautiful  scriptural  description 
of  youthful  friendship,  as  ‘passing  the  love  of 
woman.’ 

“  Herbert  Owens  has  been  Edwin’s  play-fellow 
since  he  broke  away  from  his  nurse;  they  have  but 
one  heart  and  one  portion,  no  1  mine  and  thine’  comes 
between  them.  Herbert  is  a  few  years  the  oldest,  and 
when  they  go  away  from  me  into  the  world,  I  shall 
confidently  commit  Edwin  to  his  keeping.” 

Such  were  the  happy  anticipations  of  my  sanguine 
friend,  as  we  watched  the  two  youths  sauntering  arm 
in  arm  along  the  river,  or  heard  their  mingled  voices 
in  many  shouts  from  the  echoing  woods.  Still  I  have 
them  in  my  mind’s  eye  as  they  looked  returning  from 
their  forenoon’s  sport,  their  arms  fondly  linked  to¬ 
gether,  their  sun-burnt  faces  glowing  with  heat  and 
exercise,  and  each  animated  countenance  reflecting 


230 


RELIGIOUS  SOUVENIR. 


the  most  cordial  affection  upon  the  other :  alas !  that  I 
should  ever  have  beheld  so  melancholy  a  reverse  of 
the  picture. 

My  visit  was  short,  but  so  full  of  affectionate  happi¬ 
ness,  that  it  casts  a  cheerful  ray  over  all  my  recollec¬ 
tions  of  that  period.  Even  now  I  feel  a  tender  soft¬ 
ness  at  my  heart  as  I  recall  each  gentle  trait  of  lovely, 
youthful  friendship.  Surely,  I  thought,  those  hands 
are  clasped  for  the  long  journey  of  life;  no  unkindness 
shall  sever,  no  solitary  struggle  befall  them;  kindly 
they  will  sustain  each  other  in  life,  and  sweetly  soothe 
in  death.  I  looked  upon  the  grave  sweetness  of  Her¬ 
bert’s  countenance,  and  then  upon  the  radiant  happi¬ 
ness  of  Edwin’s,  and  thought, — Herbert  shall  guide 
and  restrain  Edwin,  and  Edwin  shall  cheer  and  sus¬ 
tain  Herbert. 

Several  years  passed  before  I  renewed  my  acquaint¬ 
ance  with  these  interesting  young  men :  it  was  at  the 
close  of  their  collegiate  course  that  they  established 
themselves  in - ,  for  the  more  convenient  pur¬ 

suit  of  their  professional  studies.  They  called  upon 
me  immediately,  and  Edwin  presented  a  short  letter 
from  his  father,  affectionately  commending  his  son  to 
my  attention,  “though,”  added  my  amiable  friend, 
“dear  Herbert  is  almost  as  good  a  guardian  as  he  can 
have.” 


THE  DUELLIST. 


231 


I  was  astonished  to  find  how  completely  a  few  years 
had  transformed  their  slight,  stripling  figures  into  the 
dignified  proportions  of  manhood :  their  boyish  softness 
and  arch  vivacity,  too,  were  gone,  but  I  traced  with 
pleasure  the  same  cordial  kindness  between  the  two 
friends. 

Time  went  on,  and  every  day  seemed  ripening  the 
promise  of  their  youth;  Herbert  was  steadily  ascend¬ 
ing  that  steep 

‘  Where  fame’s  proud  temple  shines  afar,’ 

and  Edwin,  the  frank,  light-hearted  youth,  had  drawn 
around  him  a  large  circle  of  affectionate  friends. 
Both  promised  to  add  largely  to  the  usefulness  and 
happiness  of  their  generation.  And  often,  as  I  con¬ 
templated  their  rising  virtues,  I  would  say  to  myself, 
and  sometimes  solemnly  admonish  each  of  them,  u  one, 
thing  thou  lackest.”  They  were  too  amiable  to  resent, 
but  they  were  far  too  proud  to  listen  to  me.  Ah,  had 
they  inclined  their  minds  to  my  words,  what  deep 
immedicable  wounds  had  many  hearts  been  spared  ! 

My  retired,  sober  habits,  led  me  into  very  different 
scenes  and  pursuits  from  those  frequented  by  young 
men  of  such  high  fashion;  yet  occasionally  they  did 
cross  my  path,  and  gradually  I  traced  a  painful  altera- 


232 


RELIGIOUS  SOUVENIR. 


tion  in  them.  They  were  no  longer  inseparable  com¬ 
panions;  in  my  evening  walks  I  often  met  Herbert 
alone,  with  downcast  eyes  and  a  moody  abstraction  of 
countenance;  and  when  I  inquired  for  Edwin,  his 
heightened  colour  and  embarrassed  manner  betrayed 
some  lurking  evil.  Edwin,  too,  sometimes  passed  me, 
begirt  with  strange  friends,  with  a  flushed  counte¬ 
nance,  and  an  eye  sparkling  with  other  feelings  than 
those  which  once  lighted  its  mild,  affectionate  beam. 

At  last  the  painful  mystery  was  solved.  A  political 
difference  had  estranged  the  two  friends.  A  political 
quarrel  had  burst  the  golden  links  of  affection,  and  a 
friendship  which  had  1  grown  with  their  growth,  and 
strengthened  with  their  strength,’  was  rashly  sacri¬ 
ficed  in  a  moment  of  thoughtless  heat. 

I  was  deeply  grieved ;  I  had  loved  the  two  lads 
when  first  I  saw  them  under  their  father’s  roof ;  I 
loved  them  for  their  generous  attachment;  further 
acquaintance  had  increased  this  sentiment,  and  now 
I  grieved  to  see  them  rashly  casting  from  them  a  trea¬ 
sure  1  dearer  than  Plutus’s  mine,  richer  than  gold.’ 

I  resolved  to  visit  them,  to  appeal  to  their  reason,  to 
their  affections, — and  I  doubted  not  that  their  own 
hearts  would  second  my  exertions.  I  think  I  have 
something  of  ‘  the  milk  of  human  kindness’  in  my 


THE  DUELLIST. 


233 


composition — at  least,  I  had  kindled  into  a  perfect 
glow  of  benevolent  feeling  in  contemplating  this  an¬ 
ticipated  work  of  charity,  when  the  following  commu¬ 
nication  was  suddenly  laid  before  me. 

Sir, — Understanding  that  you  feel  a  particular  in¬ 
terest  in  Mr  Edwin  R - ,  I  feel  it  my  duty  to  ap¬ 

prise  you  that  Mr  Owens  and  himself,  a  few  minutes 
since,  left  town,  with  an  intention  of  settling  their 
difference  in  mortal  combat.  They  have  chosen  the 
usual  ground  near  the  city.  A  Friend. 

I  was  inexpressibly  shocked  :  for  a  moment  emotion 
paralyzed  exertion;  but  mustering  all  my  fortitude,  I 
hastened,  as  fast  as  my  trembling  limbs  could  bear  me, 
to  the  place  indicated  by  my  informant.  It  was  a 
little  cluster  of  pines,  whose  melancholy  shadows  had 
often  been  bedewed  with  tears  and  blood.  I  had 
scarcely  gained  sight  of  the  group  now  stationed  be¬ 
neath  them,  when  the  report  of  pistols  pealed  like 
thunder  over  me :  I  staggered  blindly  forward,  for  my 
aged  eyes  were  dazzled  by  that  deathful  flash.  I  re¬ 
member  nothing  distinctly  until  I  found  the  mangled 
body  of  Edwin  encircled  in  my  arms,  his  fair,  lifeless 
face  drooping  to  the  earth  like  a  broken  lily.  The 
shock  was  so  sudden,  so  stupifying,  that  I  neither 
moved  nor  spoke,  until  the  calm,  though  concerned 


234 


RELIGIOUS  SOUVENIR. 


manner  of  the  assistants  in  the  dreadful  tragedy, 
roused  my  slumbering  indignation.  “  Ye  men  of 
blood,”  I  cried,  “ye  deliberate  butchers  of  rash, 
thoughtless  youth,  surely  the  voice  of  this  blood 
which  ye  have  shed,  will  pierce  the  heavens  with  its 
cry.” 

At  that  moment  I  looked  up  and  saw  the  wretched 
murderer.  Instantly  my  feelings  were  diverted  into 
a  new  channel ;  pity  mingled  with  horror  as  I  contem¬ 
plated  his  matchless  crime  and  wo.  I  resigned  the 
lifeless  corpse  and  approached  him.  He  stood  in  the 
very  attitude  in  which  he  had  done  the  deed  of  death, 
his  arm  still  extended,  his  hand  firmly  grasping  the 
empty  pistol.  But  his  face — oh  !  its  horrid  glare  of 
supreme  misery  !  each  rigid  muscle  stretched  to  an 
agony  of  tension — his  colourless  lips,  and  livid  coun¬ 
tenance,  all  wore  that  nameless  horror  of  expression 
which  belongs  to  the  murderer  alone.  He  looked 
like  Cain  when  Abel’s  innocent  blood  smoked  at  his 
feet.  Miserable  sinner !  when  I  saw  his  punishment 
thus,  1  greater  than  he  could  bear,’  I  forgot  his  crime 
in  its  consequences;  and  laying  my  hand  on  his  arm, 
I  pulled  him  gently  away.  He  was  perfectly  passive  ; 
I  accompanied  him  to  his  lodging,  and  remained  with 
him  all  that  night,  for  I  dreaded  some  new  horror. 


THE  DUELLIST. 


235 


I  will  not  describe  his  feelings ;  it  is  a  subject  too 
awful  for  the  indulgence  of  scene-painting.  There  are 
sins  which  for  a  time  we  may  ‘  roll,  as  a  sweet  morsel, 
under  our  tongues  but  it  is  not  so  with  murder.  He 
that  violates  the  sacred  sanctuary  of  human  life,  feels 
the  instant  curse  descend  upon  him;  the  deadly  canker 
has  fallen  upon  his  heart  which  shall  surely  consume 
it  away.  Often  as  I  watched  his  fearful  agitation,  I 
murmured  to  myself,  behold 

‘  What  lesson  may  be  read, 

Beside  the  sinner’s  restless  bed.’ 

I  went  the  next  morning  to  take  a  last  look  of  Ed¬ 
win, — I  wished  to  save  for  his  father  a  lock  of  his  hair, 
that  only  relic  of  mortality  that  affection  may  snatch 
from  the  grave.  As  I  cut  tenderly  away  the  rich 
locks  which  shaded  the  marble  brow  of  death,  what 
a  deep,  what  an  awful  comprehension  I  obtained  of 
the  desert  of  sin.  I  gazed  upon  that  face  so  lately 
painted  with  a  thousand  varying  emotions — how 
fixed !  how  solemn !  he  that  had  never  been  solemn 
before.  O,  it  is  ‘a  fearful  thing  to  fall  into  the  hands 
of  the  living  God,’  ’tis  still  more  fearful  to  burst  the 
gates  of  eternity  by  crime.  ' 


236 


RELIGIOUS  SOUVENIR. 


The  following  unfinished  letter  lay  on  Edwin’s 
desk. 

“  A  most  unmanly  softness  subdues  me  in  writing 
what  I  feel  must  be  my  last  letter  to  my  father.  When 
I  was  a  little  child,  scarce  higher  than  your  knee,  you 
loved  to  call  me  your  ‘brave  boy;’  and  through  all 
the  dangers  and  trials  of  life  to  which  I  have  been 
exposed,  I  have  never  reproached  myself  with  weak¬ 
ness  of  nerve ;  but  now  I  am  oppressed  by  sensations 
which  I  feel  amount  to  fear.  Yes,  my  soul  quakes 
within  me  as  I  contemplate  the  resistless  flight  of  my 
numbered  minutes  ;  and  how  happy  should  I  be  to  es¬ 
cape  this  dreaded  catastrophe. 

11  My  last  letter  apprised  you  of  the  unhappy  state  of 
things  between  Mr  Owens  and  myself;  every  suc¬ 
ceeding  meeting  has  aggravated  our  differences,  until 
I  ‘  felt  myself  constrained  to  demand  honourable 
satisfaction’  of  him.  I  know  that  you  will  not  blame 
me;  I  have  acted  exactly  as  you  would  have  done  in 
the  same  circumstances;  yet  I  am  miserable.  We 
only  wait  until  to-morrow  that  some  necessary  business 
may  be  settled  by  Herbert — Herbert !  oh,  why  did  I 
write  that  once  dear,  familiar  word — oh  still  dear. 
Must  I  lift  my  hand  with  hostile  purpose  against 
that  bosom  upon  which  my  head  has  so  often  re- 


THE  DUELLIST. 


237 


posed  in  happy  slumbers.  Oh  that  it  were  possible  to 
retract. 

“  My  second  has  just  visited  me,  and  I  have  laughed 
and  trifled,  and  braved  death,  as  carelessly  as  if  I  felt 
nothing;  but  it  is  all  an  affected  indifference.  Just 
now  I  watched  a  group  of  happy  children  playing  in 
the  sunshine  near  my  window ;  and  I  wept  and  wished 
myself  a  child  again,  with  no  ruthless  customs  to  urge 
me  to  death  and  crime.  O  my  father,  I  have  a  dread¬ 
ful  horror  of  that  unknown  world  into  which  I  am 
rushing.  I  have  thought  little  about  it,  but  feel  that 
I  am  doing  a  deed  of  dreadful  sin — that  no  hand  just 
raised  with  murderous  intent,  may  lay  its  unhallowed 
touch  upon  the  key  that  opens  paradise — O,  it  is  yet 
possible - ” 

Such  were  the  dreadful  vacillations  of  feeling  in 
this  poor  victim  of  error — such  are  the  honest  emo¬ 
tions  of  every  feeling  heart  in  the  same  circum¬ 
stances.  I  will  not  dwell  upon  the  hopeless  anguish 
of  my  wretched  friend  under  this  most  righteous 
retribution.  His  grey  hairs  are  borne  down  to  the 
grave  by  a  most  intolerable  burden  of  guilt  and  an¬ 
guish;  he  justly  accuses  himself  as  the  murderer  of 
his  son,  and  the  sins  of  his  youth  press  heavily  upon 
him. 


238 


RELIGIOUS  SOUVENIR. 


He  has  abandoned  the  halls  of  his  fathers,  and 
now  the  whole  establishment  wears  the  melancholy 
air  of  desertion.  Its  painted  wall  has  contracted  the 
dingy  hue  of  neglect,  its  windows  are  closed,  and 
even  the  transient  passenger  may  discern  that  the  do¬ 
mestic  hearth  has  been  darkened  there.  Such  are  the 
desolations  of  sin ! 

Poor  Herbert!  how  is  he  changed — the  graceful 
sweetness  of  his  manners  are  gone,  and  in  its  place  is 
seen  the  cold  severity  of  gloomy  abstraction.  He 
continues  numbered  among  men  in  the  social  com¬ 
pact,  but  no  social  virtues  emanate  from  his  blighted 
affections:  he  holds  his  place  in  the  world,  as  a  blasted 
trunk  is  seen  rooted  for  years  among  the  living,  ver¬ 
dant  ranks  of  the  forest;  no  wholesome  fruit  is  gath¬ 
ered  from  its  boughs,  no  pleasant  shadow  revolves 
beneath  it.  As  often  as  I  see  him,  and  mark  his 
sunken  cheek  tinged  with  the  sallow  hue  of  melan¬ 
choly,  his  raven  locks  whitening  with  premature  old 
age,  and  above  all,  his  drooping,  lustreless  eye,  I  say 
to  myself, 

‘  Here  read  of  Cain  the  curse  and  crime, 

In  characters  unworn  by  time.’ 

Oh  thou  gloomy  phantom,  before  whose  shadowy 


THE  DUELLIST. 


239 


shrine  such  costly  libations  of  human  blood  have  been 
offered,  when  will  the  daylight  of  truth  dispel  thy 
fatal  illusions! 

H.  S.  P. 


240 


RELIGIOUS  SOUVENIR. 


PARENTAL  REGRET. 

Lament  not  thus — ’tis  selfish  to  repine 

That  God  recalls  the  treasure  he  hath  given, 

Rather  rejoice  that  one  sweet  babe  of  thine 

Now  triumphs  with  the  glorious  hosts  of  heaven. 

Gently,  most  gently,  the  afflictive  rod 

Is  laid  upon  thee — thou  wilt  shortly  see, 

And  humbly  own,  He  is  a  gracious  God 

Who  hath  in  loving  kindness  chastened  thee. 

For  Gvhat  He  doth,  although  thou  knowest  not  now, 
Yet  thou  shalt  know  hereafter’ — deep  in  dust. 

With  holy  resignation  learn  to  bow, 

And  own  his  dealings  merciful  as  just. 

He  hath  but  called  thy  happy  infant’s  soul 

From  a  bleak  world,  where  sin  and  sorrow  reign. 


PARENTAL  REGRET. 


241 


Where  strong  temptation’s  stormy  billows  roll, 
Seldom,  alas !  assailing  us  in  vain. 

Beyond  the  trials  of  this  wintry  clime, 

Ere  yet  life’s  thorny  paths  his  feet  had  trod, 

His  joyous  spirit,  yet  unstained  by  crime, 

Is  borne  in  triumph  to  the  throne  of  God. 

And  wouldst  thou  the  sweet  seraph’s  flight  restrain, 
From  those  pure  realms  of  never  failing  bliss, 

Where  God  the  Father — God  the  Saviour  reign, 

To  bind  him  down  to  such  a  world  as  this? 

Of  such  Christ  forms  his  kingdom — oh  believe 
The  blessed  truth  his  hallowed  lips  declared, 

1  Ear  hath  not  heard,  nor  hath  the  heart  conceived 
What  God  for  those  he  loveth  hath  prepared.’ 

Then  yield  submissive  to  the  sovereign  will 
Of  Him  who  cannot  err,  and  kiss  the  rod — 

‘  Commune  with  thine  own  spirit  and  be  still,’ 

And  know  that  he  is  God — a  faithful  God. 

Aye — bend  in  gratitude  to  heaven’s  behest, 

For  not  e’en  in  the  joyful  hour  when  thou 


242 


RELIGIOUS  SOUVENIR. 


Didst  clasp  him  first  to  thy  maternal  breast, 

Hadst  thou  such  cause  for  thankfulness  as  now. 

Then  with  unwavering  faith  to  earth  entrust 
The  faded  relics  of  this  lovely  flower, 

Assured  that  e’en  this  perishable  dust, 

‘  Now  sown  in  weakness,  shall  be  raised  in  power.’ 

In  this,  the  ‘Christian’s’  blessed  hope,  resign 
To  God  the  treasure  by  his  mercy  given, 

And  bless  his  name  that  one  sweet  babe  of  thine 
Is  now  a  glorious  habitant  of  heaven. 


Newport,  R.  I. 


S.  S.  C. 


243 


THE  GREAT  REFINER. 

‘  He  shall  sit  as  a  refiner  and  purifier  of  silver.’ 

’Tis  sweet  to  know  that  he  who  tries 
The  silver,  takes  his  seat 
Beside  the  fire  that  purifies, 

Lest  too  intense  a  heat, 

Raised  to  consume  the  base  alloy, 

The  precious  metal,  too,  destroy. 

’Tis  good  to  think  that  well  he  knows 
The  silver’s  power  to  bear 
The  ordeal  to  which  it  goes ; 

And,  that,  with  skill  and  care, 

He’ll  take  it  from  the  fire,  when  fit 
For  his  own  hand  to  polish  it. 

’Tis  blessedness  to  feel  that  he, 

The  piece  he  has  begun, 


244 


RELIGIOUS  SOUVENIR. 


Will  not  forsake  till  he  can  see, 

To  prove  the  work  is  done, 

An  image,  by  its  brightness  shown, 

The  perfect  likeness  of  his  own. 

But  ah!  how  much  of  earthly  mould, 
Dark  relics  of  the  mine, 

Purged  from  the  ore,  must  he  behold — 
How  long  must  he  refine, 

Ere  in  the  silver  he  can  trace 
The  first  faint  semblance  to  his  face  ! 

Thou  Great  Refiner,  sit  thou  by, 

Thy  promise  to  fulfil ! 

Moved  by  thy  hand,  beneath  thine  eye, 
And  melted  at  thy  will, 

Oh  may  thy  work  for  ever  shine, 
Reflecting  beauty  pure  as  thine  ! 


Newburyport. 


H.  F. 


245 


THE  MISSIONARY. 

Weep  not  for  him ! — there  is  no  cause  for  woe ; 

But  rather  nerve  the  spirit,  that  it  walk 
Unshrinking  o’er  the  thorny  path  below, 

And  from  earth’s  low  defilements  keep  thee  back  : 

So  when  a  few  fleet  swerving  years  are  flown, 

He’ll  meet  thee  at  heaven’s  gate,  and  lead  thee  on  ! 

Weep  not  for  him  I 

Mrs  Hemans. 

Every  thing  on  earth  bears  the  indelible  impress  of 
change,  decay  and  death.  Nothing  is  durable  in 
time.  Nothing  so  brilliant  as  to  be  spotless, — nothing 
so  pure  as  to  be  stainless.  Objects  the  fairest  and 
loveliest  are  mutable,  and  soon  become  disagreeable; 
the  most  beautiful  and  costly  works  of  art  are  scarcely 
completed,  ere  the  work  of  destruction  is  commenced; 
and  man,  proud  man,  follows  unwillingly,  but  rapid- 


246 


RELIGIOUS  SOUVENIR. 


ly,  in  the  same  road  to  dissolution  and  death.  We 
admire  the  rich  colours  and  sweet  fragrance  of  the 
flowers  of  spring,  yet  scarcely  are  their  beautiful 
tints  unveiled,  than  we  are  called  upon  to  regret 
their  scattered,  faded  and  scentless  leaves,  driven  by 
the  winds,  or  crushed  beneath  our  feet.  We  delight 
in  roving  in  the  greenwood,  when  the  bright  sun  of 
May  calls  forth  the  waving  foliage,  and  on  every  branch 
the  gay  and  happy  tenants  of  the  grove  are  building 
their  nests  of  down,  or  listening  to  the  sweet  and  vary¬ 
ing  notes  of  ecstasy  and  love; — yet  how  few  are  the 
days  of  summer,  and  how  quickly  past! — The  chill 
autumn  wind  is  breathed  over  the  vale,  and  the  foliage 
is  faded,  is  withered,  is  dead ;  and  the  wild  birds,  which 
but  yesterday  were  so  blest,  seek,  in  other  and  fairer 
climes  and  skies,  that  rest  which  here  they  cannot 
possess.  And  are  the  boasted  enjoyments  of  man 
more  permanent?  We  come  upon  the  stage  full  of 
bright  hopes  and  brilliant  anticipations.  Pleasure  in¬ 
vites,  wealth  allures,  honour  and  ambition  charm; 
every  path  to  happiness,  that  unknown  boundary  of 
man’s  desires,  is  laid  open  to  us,  and  the  glittering 
prize  seems  almost  within  our  reach,  when  the  airy 
phantoms  vanish,  the  rainbow-coloured  bubbles  burst, 
and  we  find  ourselves  poor  mortals  still,  weighed  down 


THE  MISSIONARY. 


247 


with  cares  and  toils,  with  afflictions  of  body  and  mind, 
and  trembling  on  the  verge  of  that  grave,  which  is 
soon  to  overwhelm  us,  and  all  that  on  earth  we  can 
hope  or  fear.  The  flowers  of  spring,  it  is  true,  will 
smile  again  as  sweet  and  beautiful  as  ever — the  forest 
will  again  resume  its  verdant  covering — the  song  of 
the  wild  bird  will  again  awaken  its  slumbering  echoes; 
— yet,  when  man  dies,  when  will  he  return  ? — when 
those  we  love  are  torn  from  us  by  a  power  that  none 
can  resist,  may  we  hope  again  to  meet  them  here  ? 
will  they  ever  awake  to  the  scenes  of  earth — its  life,  its 
hope,  its  love  ?  Ah !  never,  never ! — when  their  spring 
shall  arrive,  and  they  burst  the  cerements  of  their 
prison  house ;  when  they  throw  aside  the  green  turf 
which  perhaps  for  centuries  has  freshened  over  the 
slumbering  tenant  beneath,  the  angel  of  God  will 
have  sworn  that  time  shall  be  no  longer. 

If  there  is  one  thing  more  than  another  calculated 
to  disgust  us  with  the  things  of  earth,  and  the  evan¬ 
escent  nature  of  its  enjoyments ;  to  throw  a  chill  over 
our  hopes,  and  sickly  paleness  over  life;  nay,  I  might 
almost  say — and  what  will  not  ignorant,  short-sighted, 
presumptuous  man  dare  ? — to  impeach  the  goodness  of 
that  being  who  governs  all  things ;  it  is  to  see  a  young 
person  cut  down  in  the  morning  of  life  when  every 


248 


RELIGIOUS  SOUVENIR. 


prospect  was  bright,  to  see  the  cold  and  relentless 
grave  close  on  a  form  upon  which  fond  expectations 
had  been  built,  and  witness  youth  and  beauty  weep¬ 
ing  over  the  devastations  of  the  insatiate  destroyer. 

Such  a  scene  I  have  witnessed,  and  it  will  not  soon 
be  forgotten  by  me.  It  was  when  the  young,  the 
amiable,  and  the  endeared  Milman  Somers  was  de¬ 
posited  in  the  house  appointed  for  all  the  living.  Al¬ 
though  he  died  far  from  the  home  of  his  childhood,  yet 
I  have  seen  weeping  friends,  won  by  his  virtues,  take 
their  last,  silent,  sad  farewell,  and  have  witnessed  the 
involuntary  shudder,  as  the  clods  fell  hollowly  upon 
the  coffin  of  this  young  standard  bearer  of  the  cross, 
so  soon  removed  from  the  conflicts  of  earth  to  the 
hallelujahs  of  heaven.  Somers  I  knew  when  a  child, 
and  esteemed  him;  and  when,  after  twenty  years  had 
elapsed,  and  a  thousand  miles  had  long  separated  us, 
I  again  met  him  in  one  of  those  deep,  beautiful  and 
secluded  valleys  of  East  Tennessee,  through  which 
flows  a  head  water  of  the  Holstein,  and  found  him  the 
ardent,  persevering  missionary  of  the  cross,  and  the 
humble,  sincere  Christian,  I  loved  him;  who  is  there 
that  knew  him  and  will  not  say  the  same  ? 

Born  in  one  of  the  eastern  states,  of  pious  and  re¬ 
spectable  parents,  whose  earliest  efforts  were  directed 


THE  MISSIONARY. 


249 


to  teach  him  the  way  to  heaven,  Somers  was  remark¬ 
able  for  the  sweetness  and  mildness  of  his  disposi¬ 
tion — his  anxious  desire  to  please  and  conciliate — his 
dread  of  any  thing  which  could  interrupt  that  harmony 
and  peace  which  constitute  the  great  charm  of  social 
and  domestic  life  ;  and  if  to  these  natural  dispositions 
I  may  add  his  unaffected  piety — his  unobtrusive  but 
ardent  zeal  for  the  happiness  of  his  fellow  creatures — 
his  humility,  his  gratitude,  his  willingness  to  submit 
to  any  thing  by  which  he  could  be  made  useful  to  reli¬ 
gion  and  the  world ; — and  we  shall  have  a  character 
which,  however  imperfectly  sketched,  will  long  be  re¬ 
membered  with  pleasure.  Perfection  for  my  friend  I 
do  not  claim;  he  himself  would  have  been  the  first  to 
have  rejected  such  a  pretension.  He  was  a  man:  Ho 
err  is  human.’ 

That  a  mind,  constituted  and  endowed  by  hea¬ 
ven  as  was  that  of  Milman  Somers,  should  feel,  and 
deeply  feel,  for  a  ‘  world  lying  in  wickedness,’  cannot 
be  cause  of  wonder.  He  heard  the  Macedonian  cry, 
‘  come  over  and  help  us,’  resounding  at  once  from  the 
coral  isles  of  the  deep  blue  Pacific,  the  spicy  groves 
and  golden  sands  of  Ceylon  and  Coromandel,  the 
palm-leaf  huts  and  dark  sons  of  darker  and  degraded 
Africa,  and  from  the  red  man  of  our  own  forests,  driven 


250 


RELIGIOUS  SOUVENIR. 


to  his  last  barrier  and  conscious  that  nothing  but 
Christianity  and  civilization  could  save  his  race  from 
speedy  and  utter  extermination.  He  heard,  and  the 
response  of  his  warm  and  benevolent  heart  was, 1  Lord, 
here  am  I,  send  me  !’ 

From  the  moment  that  young  Somers  commenced 
his  studies  preparatory  to  the  great  work  of  a  Chris¬ 
tian  minister  and  missionary,  his  whole  soul  seemed 
devoted  to  the  cause  in  which  he  had  engaged.  In  his 
collegiate  course  he  was  laborious  and  indefatigable. 
His  talents  were  far  above  mediocrity,  and  they  were 
successfully  exerted.  His  leisure  hours  and  his  weeks 
of  vacation  were  not  spent  idly,  or  unprofitably ;  he 
visited  from  house  to  house,  he  encouraged  the  feeble 
and  destitute  churches,  and  he  urged  in  that  mild  and 
persuasive  manner  for  which  he  was  so  distinguished, 
and  which,  while  it  convinced,  rarely,  if  ever,  offended, 
all  men  to  repent  and  believe.  It  was  in  the  midst  of 
these  endeavours  to  do  good,  that  the  seeds  of  that 
disorder  were  sown,  which  to  the  eye  of  mortals  pre¬ 
maturely  prostrated  him  in  death.  The  hectic  flush, 
the  sleepless  night,  the  wasted  form,  showed  too 
plainly,  that  of  all  the  arrows  in  his  full  quiver,  the 
fell  destroyer  had  selected  the  one  most  securely  and 
inevitably  fatal.  Death,  in  whatever  shape  he  ap- 


THE  MISSIONARY. 


251 


proaches,  may  with  propriety  be  termed  the  ‘king  of 
terrors;’  come  as  he  will,  we  may  well  say  to  him,  in 
the  words  of  our  gifted  countryman,  Halleck, — 

- 1  Thou  art  terrible  ;  the  tear, 

The  groan,  the  knell,  the  pall,  the  bier, 

And  all  we  know  or  dream  or  fear 
Of  agony,  are  thine.’ 

There  is  something  inconceivably  awful  in  standing 
on  the  shore  of  time,  and  endeavouring  in  vain  to 
penetrate  the  veiled  certainties,  the  mysterious  re¬ 
cesses,  the  unfathomable  abysses  of  the  ocean  of  eter¬ 
nity.  We  cast  our  eyes  backward  on  time,  it  is  a  passing 
shadow,  a  dream,  a  vapour ;  yet  it  has  been  the  source  of 
numberless  joys,  of  ten  thousand  delightful  recollec¬ 
tions  ;  and  we  are  now  to  leave  them  all — and  for  what? 
— ah,  who  can  tell  what  scenes  await  the  disembodied 
spirit,  in  that  land  of  silence  and  gloom,  from  within 
whose  leaden  portals  no  traveller  has  ever  returned. 
Is  it  strange  then  that  faith,  eagle-eyed  as  it  is,  should 
sometimes  be  unable  to  penetrate  the  thick  darkness 
that  broods  over  the  grave  ;  that  man,  shuddering  on 
the  confines  of  eternity,  should  cast  *  a  longing,  linger¬ 
ing  look  behind;’  and  that,  in  that  hour,  he  should 
remember,  with  a  feeling  of  regret,  dear  friends,  sweet 


252 


RELIGIOUS  SOUVENIR. 


society,  and  those  charms  of  nature,  to  which  he  is 
now  to  bid  a  final  adieu.  In  that  hour  nothing  but 
the  light  of  that  glorious  gospel,  which  has  brought  to 
us  life  and  immortality,  can  irradiate  the  gloom,  and, 
dear  as  many  of  the  joys  and  friendships  of  earth  may 
be,  show  us  still  brighter  and  holier  scenes  beyond. 

For  myself,  I  have  long  thought  that  the  greatest 
boon  I  could  ask  with  reference  to  that  great  event, 
unconnected  with  a  future  state,  would  be,  not  to  die 
a  living  death.  I  would  not  stand  and  see  the  monarch 
of  the  shades  advancing  with  noiseless,  but  ceaseless 
steps,  for  months  before  he  strikes  the  fatal  blow,  flat¬ 
tering  myself  to  the  last  with  the  hope  of  escape,  but 
finding  to  my  surprise,  that  death  1  never  misses  once 
the  track.’  I  would  not  see  the  deepening  anxiety  of 
my  dearest  friends,  the  extinction  of  hope  after  hope, 
the  despondency  of  physicians,  the  dimmed  eye  and 
pallid  cheek,  nor  by  wasting  disease  defraud  the  ringed 
earth-worm  of  the  grave.  Yet  Somers  saw,  and  suf¬ 
fered,  and  triumphed  and  more  than  triumphed  over, 
all  this. 

His  studies  were  closed ;  he  had  passed  the  neces¬ 
sary  examinations  before  the  ecclesiastical  body  to 
which  he  was  attached,  and  as  at  times  hope  still  flat¬ 
tered  him  with  the  prospect  of  returning  health,  he 


THE  MISSIONARY. 


253 


received  an  appointment  as  a  missionary  to  the  south¬ 
western  states,  and  immediately  made  his  arrange¬ 
ments  to  try  the  effect  of  a  southern  clime  in  reno¬ 
vating  his  health  and  spirits.  The  result  of  the  jour¬ 
ney  appeared  decidedly  favourable ;  his  strength 
rapidly  increased  :  and  when,  to  my  no  less  pleasure 
than  surprise,  I  met  him,  after  so  long  a  separation,  I 
could  not  but  hope  that  he  was  destined  to  a  long 
career  of  usefulness  below.  Yielding  to  our  urgent 
solicitations  he  consented  to  remain  a  while  in  our 
vicinity  ;  we  little  imagining  that  he  was  never  again 
to  pass  the  blue  mountains  that  mark  the  outlines  of 
our  beautiful  valley,  and  render  it  one  of  the  most 
healthy  and  delightful  spots  on  the  wide  earth.  In 
his  style  of  preaching,  Somers  chose  the  simple  and 
affectionate.  His  object  was  not  to  astonish  by  his 
brilliancy  or  his  paradoxes;  but  to  convince,  enlighten 
and  reform.  His  hearers  were  oftener  led  to  Calvary 
than  to  Sinai;  the  motto  of  his  preaching  was, 1  nothing 
but  Christ !’  and  on  this  glorious  theme  his  lips  seemed 
moistened  with  dew  gathered  from  the  leaves  of  those 
trees  in  paradise  which  are  given  for  the  healing  of 
the  nations.  To  one,  who  hinted  to  him  that  he  rather 
avoided  than  encouraged  the  introduction  of  the  mys¬ 
terious  and  disputed  doctrines  of  Christianity  in  his 
R 


254 


RELIGIOUS  SOUVENIR. 


sermons,  he  replied  with  a  smile,  “  Do,  my  dear  sir,  let 
my  hearers  first  become  Christians ;  it  will  then  be 
time  enough  for  them  to  become  disputants  and  theolo¬ 
gians.” 

Religion  does  not  destroy  any  of  those  original 
principles  which  were  implanted  in  man  by  his  crea¬ 
tor  ;  but  it  enables  him  to  govern  and  control  them  : 
grace  does  not  eradicate  any  of  those  social  affections 
which  are  the  offspring  of  the  heart;  but  it  purifies 
and  elevates  them,  and  renders  them  subservient  to 
the  cause  of  happiness  and  virtue.  Within  a  few 
months  after  his  arrival  in  the  valley,  Milman  Somers 
became  acquainted  with  the  young  and  beautiful  Mary 
Wildman.  That  he  should  become  a  willing  captive 
to  so  much  loveliness  could  excite  no  surprise.  To 
superior  power  of  intellect,  she  added  the  graces  of  an 
excellent  education,  and  over  her  whole  deportment 
was  thrown  that  veil  of  modesty,  mildness  and  charity 
which  can  only  spring  from  a  mind  thoroughly  im¬ 
bued  with  the  belief  and  practice  of  the  great  truths  of 
the  Christian  religion.  Somers  loved,  and  his  love 
was  returned  with  sincerity  and  affection ;  but  it  was 
viewed  by  him  as  a  secondary  object, — it  produced  no 
change  in  his  zeal  for  the  important  work  to  which  his 
life  was  devoted, — he  remembered  his  vows  to  the 


THE  MISSIONARY. 


255 


Lord,  and  willingly  hastened  to  redeem  them;  and,  in 
his  loved  and  chosen  one,  he  found  a  person  who,  to 
the  extent  of  her  power,  would  cheerfully  aid  in  the 
object  he  had  so  much  at  heart.  Thus  happily  situated 
in  the  midst  of  the  affectionate  people  by  whom  he 
was  surrounded,  and  by  whom  his  worth  was  fully 
appreciated,  more  than  a  year  passed  away.  His 
health  had  gradually  improved ;  his  preaching  and  his 
exertions  had  been  signally  owned  of  heaven;  a  flour¬ 
ishing  church  had  been  gathered;  and  many,  very 
many  there  were  who  considered  him  their  spiritual 
father,  and  daily  invoked  heaven’s  choicest  blessings 
upon  his  head. 

But  the  fairest  prospects  of  human  life  are  a  dream, 
from  which  we  are  suddenly  and  painfully  awakened  ; 
our  dearest  hopes  are  illusory ;  and  too  often  it  is  found, 
that  early  usefulness  and  promising  endowments  are 
but  a  prelude  to  a  premature  and  untimely  grave.  Too 
often  the  light  which  glimmers  in  the  chamber  of  death 
is  but  the  meteor  train,  brilliant  and  fleeting,  left  by 
some  youthful  mind  ardent  in  the  pursuit  of  useful 
and  honourable  distinction,  but  whose  rising  orb  has 
been  quenched  in  the  chilling  damps  of  death.  The 
death  of  Somers  furnishes  another  to  the  already  nu¬ 
merous  proofs  which  attest  these  melancholy  facts.  A 


256 


RELIGIOUS  SOUVENIR. 


sudden  and  violent  cold,  which  caused  a  recurrence 
of  all  the  dangerous  symptoms  in  his  case,  greatly 
alarmed  his  friends,  and  not  without  cause.  They  saw 
him  again  sinking :  but  he  could  not  listen  to  their 
warnings ;  he  could  not  now  hear  their  entreaties  to  be 
more  cautious  in  pursuing  his  labours,  or  cease  his 
exertions  for  the  welfare  of  souls.  He  was  unwilling 
to  forbear  working  while  it  was  day ;  and  while  we  have 
no  doubt  many  will  rise  up  at  the  last  day  and  call  him 
blessed,  it  was  evident  his  life  and  strength  were 
rapidly  wasting.  When  told  by  the  physician  that 
the  exertion  of  preaching  would  hasten  his  death,  he 
answered  in  the  words  of  Whitfield,  1  better  wear  out 
than  rust  out.’  When  mostly  confined  to  his  room, 
his  cheerfulness  did  not  forsake  him  ;  a  complaining, 
murmuring  spirit  never  was  his.  The  struggle  of  his 
soul  was  severe  before  he  could  calmly  listen  to  the 
voice  which  from  heaven  seemed  to  say  unto  him,  1 1 
have  no  more  work  for  thee  to  do  on  the  earth,  thy  race 
is  finished ;  henceforth  there  is  laid  up  for  thee  a  crown 
of  glory.’  His  loved  Mary,  who  had  left  the  place,  a 
few  weeks  before,  for  the  purpose  of  making  some 
arrangements  previous  to  their  union,  was  sent  for; 
but  they  met  not,  as  they  had  often  done  before,  with 
hearts  buoyant  with  pleasing  anticipations,  and  hopes 


THE  MISSIONARY. 


257 


bright  with  the  prospect  of  years  of  usefulness  and 
happiness  to  come.  The  hollow  and  sunken  eye,  the 
tottering  step  and  emaciated  form,  too  plainly  revealed 
to  the  heart  of  the  affectionate  girl,  the  rapid  strides 
that  disease  had  made.  Still  hope  did  not  entirely 
desert  them.  Somers’s  physician,  arguing  from  the 
beneficial  effects  of  his  former  journey,  recommend¬ 
ed  its  continuance  by  easy  stages  to  Nashville,  and 
from  thence  by  a  steamboat  to  New  Orleans,  where 
the  winter  was  to  be  spent ;  in  his  solicitude  offering 
to  defray  all  the  expenses  himself,  and  be  the  miss¬ 
ionary’s  companion  during  the  journey  and  voyage. 
Mary,  too,  was  to  accompany  them;  but  the  peculiar 
delicacy  of  her  relation  to  Somers,  being  yet  un¬ 
married,  rendered  more  poignant  by  her  sensibility  and 
fine  feeling,  can  only  be  appreciated  by  those  who 
have  been  similarly  situated.  Her  betrothed  was  to 
be  torn  from  her  arms,  yet  she  might  not  mourn 
with  those  that  would  be  called  to  mourn;  she 
might  exchange  her  bridal  dress  for  the  dark  habili¬ 
ments  of  woe,  yet  the  heartless  and  formal  regula¬ 
tions  of  society  would  hardly  permit  their  use;  day 
and  night  she  would  willingly  be  near  his  couch  to 
anticipate  his  slightest  wishes,  smooth  the  uneasy 
pillow  of  sickness,  and  if  possible  alleviate  his  distress, 


258 


RELIGIOUS  SOUVENIR. 


yet  maiden  delicacy  forbade.  One  alternative  remain¬ 
ed:  their  vows  of  affection  had  been  heard  and  regis¬ 
tered  in  heaven,  and  they  were  now  witnessed  and 
recorded  on  earth  ;  they  were  married.  But  the  usual 
demonstrations  of  joy  which  accompany  the  bridal 
were  wanting :  hearts  which  bled  to  think  of  the 
separation  which  was  probably  so  soon  to  follow,  eyes 
from  which  tear-drops  were  falling,  and  deep  solem¬ 
nity  and  silence,  were  there. 

Somers  sunk  daily,  and  so  rapidly,  that  the  journey 
was  abandoned,  and  all  thought  of  leaving  the  valley 
relinquished.  The  sands  of  his  life  had  escaped  one 
by  one,  and  it  was  evident  that  but  few  remained. 
His  voice  grew  fainter,  his  distress  became  greater, 
until  at  last  wearied  nature  bowed  under  accumulated 
suffering ;  yet  his  patience  failed  not,  nor  was  he  for¬ 
saken  by  his  God.  His  language  to  those  dear  friends 
of  his  who  were  weeping  around  his  bed  of  death  was, 
u  Weep  not  for  me ;  I  am  happy  in  suffering  here  what 
my  God  sees  best  for  me  to  suffer,  and  I  shall  be 
eternally  happy  with  him,  and  with  you  hereafter.” 
When  some  one  ventured  to  speak  of  the  success 
which  had  attended  the  short  period  of  his  ministry, 
he  quickly  replied  in  accents  of  the  deepest  humility, 
“  O,  mention  it  not  to  me  :  give  Jesus  the  praise ;  his 


THE  MISSIONARY. 


259 


blood  has  wrought  it  all;  were  I  to  preach  a  thousand 
years,  Christ,  and  him  crucified,  should  be  all  my 
theme.”  For  several  hours  previous  to  his  death,  he 
had  lain  speechless  and  apparently  insensible.  Anx¬ 
ious  to  know  whether  his  faith  was  still  unvarying,  his 
faithful  Mary,  who  was  bending  over  him  with  all  the 
anguish  of  a  bleeding  heart,  lowered  her  head,  and,  in 
a  gentle  whisper,  inquired  if  he  knew  who  was  speak¬ 
ing  to  him?  “Oh  yes!”  was  his  reply,  in  a  voice 
almost  suffocated  with  the  gathering  damps  of  death; 
while  at  the  same  time,  with  an  effort  of  which  he 
could  not  have  been  supposed  capable,  he  threw  his 
arms  around  her,  and  clasped  her  to  his  bosom;  u  oh 
yes  !  you  are  my  dear  Mary,  and  in  heaven  I  shall  not 
forget  you.”  Then,  with  the  last  effort  and  accents 
of  ebbing  existence,  he  poured  out  a  prayer  to  his 
heavenly  father,  pressed  the  lips  of  his  beautiful  Mary 
to  his  own,  and  on  them,  with  his  last  kiss,  breathed 
out  his  soul,  and  fell  asleep  in  Jesus. 

{  He  faded,  not  as  the  sun,  which  sets  in  clouds 
And  gloom;  but  as  the  morning  star,  which  melts 
And  mingles  in  the  glorious  light  of  day.’ 

Near  the  head  of  the  valley,  on  the  bank  of  a  clear 
stream  that  there  descends  from  the  mountain,  is  a 


260 


RELIGIOUS  SOUVENIR. 


burial  ground,  over  which  a  few  large  graceful  elms 
spread  their  branches,  and  wave  their  light  feathery 
tassels;  and  here,  in  this  secluded  retreat,  far  away  from 
the  busy  and  bustling  world,  repose  the  remains  of  the 
youthful,  the  prayerful,  the  successful,  and  the  lamented 
Milman  Somers.  I  saw  the  multitude  which,  with 
mournful  step  and  slow,  followed  him  to  his  last  resting- 
place,  and  many  a  hat  was  there  lifted  to  conceal  that 
softening  of  the  heart  and  hide  those  tears  which  all 
rugged  bosoms  are  ashamed  to  exhibit.  I  have  heard 
the  muffled  drum,  and  the  low  death  dirge ;  I  have 
seen  the  glitter  and  pageantry  of  wealth  and  pride :  but 
they  could  never  make  such  deep  and  lasting  impress¬ 
ions,  as  the  spontaneous  and  affecting  respect  paid  to 
this  humble  missionary  of  Christ,  It  was  the  tribute 
paid  to  departed  excellence,  by  the  best  and  holiest 
feelings  of  the  heart.  I  saw  the  widowed  bride  as, 
with  grief  too  profound  for  tears,  she  pressed  her 
white  hand  on  his  marble  forehead;  and,  as  his  comely 
head  was  lowered  into  the  grave,  I  reflected  on  the 
mysterious  providence  which  cuts  off  in  the  morning 
of  life,  from  the  sweets  of  domestic  bliss,  and  in  the 
full  promise  of  extensive  usefulness,  such  an  individual; 
while  the  wretch  who  lives  only  to  spread  the  con¬ 
taminations  of  vice,  who  is  a  curse  to  his  family  and 


THE  MISSIONARY. 


261 


neighbourhood,  lives  to  old  age,  despising  every  thing 
sacred,  and,  to  the  last,  trifling  with  his  God.  The 
satisfactory  and  consoling  result  of  all  was,  ‘  even  so, 
Father,  for  so  it  seemeth  good  in  thy  sight !’ 

W.  G. 


/ 


262 


RELIGIOUS  SOUVENIR. 


SAMSON. 

There  stands  a  pile  in  Gaza.  Crowd  on  crowd 
Have  gathered  ’neath  its  arches;  and  the  hum 
Of  voiceful  merriment  re-echoes  round. 

With  gorgeous  pomp,  lit  by  the  golden  sun, 

In  state  luxurious  and  imposing,  rest 
The  lords  of  the  Philistines.  Dagon’s  form 
Swells,  like  some  vast-proportioned  statue,  near, 
And,  blending  earth’s  with  ocean’s  wonders,  ends 
In  folds  voluminous  along  the  ground. 

O’er  fretted  shaft  and  architrave,  are  seen 
Groups  above  groups,  down-gazing,  far  beneath, 
Where,  like  the  surges  of  a  stormy  sea, 

Gay  multitudes  are  moving.  Music  sounds; 

And  laugh,  and  jeer,  and  shout,  alternate  rise. 


Who  stands  before  the  assemblage,  still  and  sad, 


- 

>'■ 


ft 


0 


y 


\ 


* 

* 


SAMSON. 


263 


With  wrists  all  scarred,  and  arms  in  solemn  guise 
Folded,  in  listless  sorrow,  on  his  breast, 

While  sinks  his  head,  as  if  awearied,  there? 

It  is  the  Hebrew,  Samson;  girt  by  foes, 

Worn  with  the  fever  of  a  prisoner’s  heart, 

And  by  his  griefs  enfeebled.  Late  he  stood, 

Unshorn  and  full  of  strength,  on  Hebron’s  hill, 

While  bars  and  ponderous  gates  his  shoulders  bore, 
Wrenched  from  proud  Gaza’s  wall,  when  midnight 
clouds 

Toiled  with  the  moon  for  mastery  in  the  sky. 

Now,  robbed  of  sight,  he  groped  his  way,  and  stood 
Between  the  pillars  of  that  mighty  pile, 

And  heard,  with  troubled  ear,  the  murmuring  tones 
That  swelled,  tumultuous,  round  him.  Then,  per¬ 
chance, 

His  wandering  thoughts  the  mazy  days  recalled, 
When,  through  voluptuous  hours,  his  eyes,  ensnared, 
Were  bent  upon  the  syren,  by  whose  arts 
He  late  had  mourned  in  prison.  Now,  no  more, 

Her  witching  dalliance  charmed:  her  form,  no  more, 
Moved  like  a  spell  before  him.  He  had  woke, 

From  a  poor  vision  of  ephemeral  joy, 

To  brazen  fetters  and  a  dungeon’s  gloom. 

A  pause  amidst  the  mirth — as  comes  a  calm 


264 


RELIGIOUS  SOUVENIR. 


Before  some  sweeping  storm — hath  touched  the  crowd. 
The  sightless  prisoner’s  lips  in  prayer  are  moved, 

As  ’midst  the  pillars  of  the  pile  he  stands. 

A  pause, — and  then  a  murmur,  like  the  stir 
Of  subterranean  winds  and  gathering  weaves 
Which  bodes  the  coming  earthquake !  Now  hath 
dawned 

The  shorn  one’s  hour  of  triumph! — for,  above, 

Around  and  underneath,  like  meeting  seas, 

A  sound,  which  checks  th’  assembly’s  indrawn  breath, 
Peals  on  each  listener’s  bent  and  earnest  ear! 

Mark,  where  the  pillars  tremble,  as  the  man, 

Whose  arms  embrace  them,  clothed  in  godlike 
strength, 

Bends,  in  his  ponderous  effort,  to  and  fro ! 

Now,  look  above : — and  ’gainst 1  the  wounded  air,’ 
Transpierced  with  many  a  shriek  and  bitter  groan, 
See  countless  hands,  in  frenzied  gesture  raised 
And  supplication  vain; — and  mark,  below, 

The  multitudes  down-crouching,  pale  with  dread 
And  shuddering,  in  the  ague-chill  of  fear ! 

Now,  yawn  the  yielding  arches ;  and  wild  throngs 
Spring  from  the  breaking  roof,  delirious,  down. 

One  stern,  unbroken  and  resistless  cry — 

One  crash  of  living  thunder, — all  is  still. 


SAMSON. 


265 


The  sun  hath  set  on  Gaza :  yet  the  west 
Burns,  with  a  vivid  crimson,  where  the  clouds, 

In  gold  and  purple,  stretch  their  winglike  folds 
Up  toward  the  sapphire  ether.  Night  is  near : 

And  from  the  ruins  of  the  broken  pile, 

Where  late  the  captive  Hebrew  strove  and  prayed, 
There  rise  the  echoes  of  some  sufferer’s  groan 
Yet  numbered  ’midst  the  living :  faint  and  low, 
They  melt,  at  last,  to  silence. 

Death  is  there  ! 

And,  as  a  shadow,  broods  above  the  scene, 

While  winds,  like  funeral  anthems,  wail  around. 
Look,  once  again!  the  clouds, but  late  so  bright, 

To  shadowy  forms  have  turned,  and  pall  the  sky ; 
O’er  joy’s  sad  wreck  a  saddening  spell  is  shed, 

And  darkness  shrouds  old  Gaza’s  lordly  dead. 

W.  G.  C. 


Philadelphia. 


266 


RELIGIOUS  SOUVENIR. 


SHALL  I  CONSENT  TO  BECOME  HIS 

WIFE  P 


My  dear  and  valued  friend,  that  portion  of  your 
letter  which  contains  the  question, 1  Shall  I  consent 
to  become  his  wife  ?’  is  one  which  has  awakened  in 
my  bosom  sensations  of  the  most  painful  description  ; 
because  I  am  fully  aware  how  thankless,  and  how 
generally  useless  the  advice,  which,  on  a  question  of 
the  kind  you  propose  me,  runs  counter  to  the  wishes 
of  the  heart  of  the  one  who  asks  it.  You  tell  me  that 

Mr  H - is  an  excellent  man  ;  that  in  many  of  the 

relations  of  life  he  has  proved  himself  all  that  could  be 
desired,  and  that  your  own  heart  leans  to  the  accept¬ 
ance  of  his  offer,  and  only  hesitates  because  he  is  not 
decidedly  a  religious  character.  You  say  that  he  re¬ 
spects  religion,  and  that  he  will  not  interfere  with 
any  of  your  religious  advantages.  Permit  me  here  to 
observe  that  you  entirely  miscalculate  the  enmity  of 


SHALL  I  BECOME  HIS  WIFE  ? 


267 


the  unrenewed  heart  to  religion;  and  that  you  lay 
more  weight  on  the  negative  principle  of  respect  for 
piety,  than  it  will  ever  be  found  able  to  bear.  How 
can  a  man  truly  respect  religion  and  yet  never  em¬ 
brace  it?  You  would  certainly  hold  it  quite  prepos¬ 
terous  for  me  to  recommend  to  you  a  man  of  decidedly 
vicious  habits,  and  tell  you  that  though  this  was  his 
character,  he  unquestionably  was  a  respecter  of  virtue. 
No  man  truly  respects  virtue  who  lives  in  vice ;  and  no 
man  truly  respects  religion  who  is  in  the  daily  habit 
of  refusing  the  adoption  of  its  obligations.  You  tell 
me  that  Mr  H - would  not  interfere  with  your  re¬ 

ligious  advantages;  and  I  can  tell  you,  from  very  long 
and  painful  observation  among  cases  precisely  similar, 
how  much  this  non-interference  would  amount  to. 
He  would  not  certainly  interfere  with  your  religious 
privileges  while  those  privileges,  in  their  enjoyment, 
did  not  interfere  with  his  personal  gratification ;  but 
the  moment  your  religion  required  self-denial  on  his 
part,  or  ran  counter  to  views  or  plans  which  he  wished 
to  indulge,  that  moment  the  principle  of  non-inter¬ 
ference  would  be  abandoned.  I  write  this  because  I 
have  seen  it  in  case  after  case,  and  have  marked  the 
total  destruction  which  it  made,  either  of  religion  on 
the  one  hand,  or  of  domestic  enjoyment  on  the  other. 
1  grant  that  I  have  seen  exceptions  :  but  they  are  rare 


268 


RELIGIOUS  SOUVENIR. 


— very,  very  rare;  in  Scripture  phrase,  ‘like  the 
gleaning  of  the  olive,  one  or  two  upon  the  topmost 
boughs.’ 

Now,  need  I  answer  your  question  ?  ‘  The  perfec¬ 

tion  of  conjugal  felicity,’  says  one,  ‘depends  upon 
the  existence  of  similar  religious  feelings  in  the  par¬ 
ties.  No  language  can  paint  the  bitterness  of  that 
pang  which  rends  the  heart  when  a  dissimilarity  of 
taste  prevails  in  so  important  an  affair.  Let  those 
who  are  forming  connections  in  this  life,  and  who 
love  Christ  in  sincerity ,  reflect  on  the  fatal  consequen¬ 
ces  of  devoting  their  affections  to  such  as  can  never 
accompany  them  to  the  house  of  God  but  with  reluc¬ 
tance,  or  to  the  throne  of  grace  but  with  weariness  and 
aversion.  If  the  object  of  your  fondest  regard  be  an 
unbeliever,  your  pleasures  and  your  pains  of  a  religious 
kind,  which  are  the  most  intense,  will  be  unpartici¬ 
pated.  You  must  walk  alone  in  those  paths  of  plea¬ 
santness,  which  would  be  still  more  endeared  by  such 
sweet  society,  and  you  must  suffer  the  keenest  sor¬ 
rows  of  the  heart,  perhaps  without  daring  to  name 
them,  and  certainly  without  one  tear,  one  word,  one 
look  of  soothing  sympathy.’ 

How  far  these  remarks  may  influence  your  determi¬ 
nation,  I  am  not  able  to  conjecture.  In  the  business 
of  the  heart,  there  is  so  much  of  mere  feeling,  that  cold 


SHALL  I  BECOME  HIS  WIFE  ?  269 


reasoning  is  apt  to  be  much  disregarded;  and  then, 
very  much  like  Esau,  who  sold  his  birth-right  for  the 
short-lived  gratification  of  an  hour,  many  1  find  no 
place  or  opportunity  of  repentance,’  though  they  feel 
its  dread  necessity,  even  unto  ‘  tears.’ 

Your  affectionate  friend. 


s 


270 


RELIGIOUS  SOUVENIR. 


CHRISTMAS  EVE. 

And  there  were,  in  the  same  country,  shepherds  abiding  in 
the  fields,  keeping  watch  over  their  flocks  by  night.  And  lo ! 
the  angel  of  the  Lord  came  upon  them,  and  the  glory  of  the 
Lord  shone  round  about  them,  and  they  were  sore  afraid.  And 
the  angel  said  unto  them,  Fear  not,  for  I  bring  you  good  tidings 
of  great  joy,  which  shall  be  to  all  people,  for  unto  you  is  born 
this  day,  in  the  city  of  David,  a  Saviour,  who  is  Christ  the 
Lord. 

Luke,  II.  8 — 11. 


‘  How  beautiful  that  night ! 

A  dewy  freshness  filled  the  silent  air, 
No  mist  obscured,  no  little  cloud 
Broke  the  whole  serene  of  Heaven. 

In  full  orbed  glory,  the  majestic  moon 
Rolled  through  the  dark  blue  depths. 
Beneath  her  steady  ray, 

The  silvered  landscape  spread, 

And  slept  in  loveliness  ! 

How  beautiful  that  night.’ 


CHRISTMAS  EVE. 


271 


Lured  by  the  beauty  of  the  night,  which,  in  the 
climate  of  Judea,  is  almost  atall  seasons  unclouded,  it  is 
more  than  probable  that  the  shepherds  had  gathered 
themselves  into  small  companies,  to  enjoy  the  delights 
of  social  intercourse.  In  the  day  time  they  would  of 
necessity  be  separated  as  they  followed  their  flocks, 
feeding  on  the  hills  or  valleys,  or  drinking  at  the  crys¬ 
tal  fountains.  But  at  night ,  after  they  had  brought 
their  flocks  in  safety  to  the  fold,  they  could  draw  near 
each  other,  and  realize  the  pleasures  which  the  occu¬ 
pations  of  the  day  forbade.  In  the  day  time,  the  sun 
poured  down  his  beams  in  heat  the  most  excessive ;  but 
at  night ,  there  was  a  sweet  refreshing  coolness  super- 
added  to  a  cloudless  sky,  and  still  more,  worlds  of 
moving  light  above  them,  calculated  to  raise  their 
thoughts  up  to  the  Maker  of  them  all. 

If  these  shepherds  were  pious  (and  we  have  no  reason 
to  doubt  it,  for  we  learn  that  there  were  those  who  look¬ 
ed  for  redemption  in  Jerusalem),  we  may  reasonably 
conjecture  the  subjects  of  their  nightly  conversations. 
Sometimes  they  dwelt  upon  the  expectation  and  the 
consolation  of  Israel,  sometimes  they  mourned  over 
the  ruin  and  desolation  of  their  country  under  the 
Roman  domination,  and  anxiously  dwelt  upon  the 
period  when,  according  to  the  promise,  the  ruin  was 
to  be  repaired,  and  the  land  restored  to  its  primitive 


272 


RELIGIOUS  SOUVENIR. 


possessors.  At  times  they  talked  over  the  prophecies 
which  were  calculated  to  excite  their  hopes,  and  ever 
and  anon  they  bowed  in  humble  supplication,  and 
prayed  that  Zion’s  God  would  arise  and  have  mercy 
upon  her. 

These  are  speculations;  be  they  as  they  may,  it  wras 
while  these  shepherds  were  keeping  watch  over  their 
flocks  by  night,  that  ‘  an  angel  came  down  among  them 
and  the  glory  of  the  Lord  shone  round  about  them.’ 
It  is  not  surprising  that  they  were  1  sore  afraid;’  super¬ 
natural  appearances  are  calculated  to  produce  sudden 
and  strong  emotions.  In  the  by-gone  days  of  the 
patriarchs,  when  God,  by  some  visible  manifestations 
of  his  presence,  visited  and  conversed  with  his  ser¬ 
vants,  less  surprise  was  excited,  because  he  vouchsafed 
in  some  measure  to  many,  what  has  since  been  almost 
totally  denied  to  all.  The  Jews,  for  forty  years,  saw, 
without  emotion,  that  supernatural  cloud  in  which 
God  dwelt  among  them  as  his  peculiar  people.  By 
day,  they  walked  by  its  guidance  and  were  sheltered 
beneath  its  shadow ;  and  by  night,  it  was  their  light, 
more  than  sun  or  moon  or  stars.  As  the  glory  gra¬ 
dually  departed  from  Israel,  supernatural  messengers 
were  less  frequently  vouchsafed,  and,  at  the  time  in 
which  the  event  took  place  which  is  the  subject  of 
this  brief  meditation,  it  seemed  as  if  God  had  almost 


CHRISTMAS  EVE. 


273 


forsaken  totally  his  once  so  highly  favoured  people. 
The  vision  was  over,  and  the  prophecy  had  been  sealed 
four  hundred  years.  During  this  long  and  gloomy  night 
of  their  desolations,  no  messenger  from  heaven  had 
cheered  the  fainting  spirits  of  this  singular  people. 
But  at  the  period  of  which  we  write,  a  kind  of  breath¬ 
less  anxiety  seemed  to  characterize  the  whole  nation 
of  the  Jews;  there  was  something  disturbed  in  their 
whole  spiritual  atmosphere.  A  few  beams  of  light, 
just  like  the  fitful  gleaming  of  some  solitary  star  as  it 
breaks  through  the  clouds  of  a  tempestuous  night, 
seemed  to  keep  alive  hope;  but  that  was  all.  But  as 
the  ‘  fulness  of  time’  came  on,  there  were  some  brighter 
indications.  There  was  an  angel  messenger  to  Zach- 
arias  and  to  Mary,  who  told  of  wondrous  things  soon 
to  be  developed ;  but  it  was  reserved  to  these  humble 
shepherds,  successors  to  the  early  occupation  of  Israel’s 
first  distinguished  king,  to  have  so  glorious  an  annun¬ 
ciation  as  that  of  the  long  looked  for  Messiah,  successor 
to  David’s  long  lost  dignity.  It  is  no  wonder,  then,  that 
they  were  {  sore  afraid.’  They  knew  not  the  purport 
of  the  supernatural  visit.  It  might  have  portended 
some  tremendous  evil;  it  might  have  brought  them 
some  intimation  of  their  nation’s  deeper  degradation, 
and  more  signal  ruin ;  perhaps  their  fears  were  merely 
personal,  and  their  souls  may  have  sunk  within  them 


274 


RELIGIOUS  SOUVENIR. 


at  the  apprehension  of  danger  or  of  death  to  themselves. 
But  no!  a  message  of  mercy  was  upon  the  angel’s  lip, 
and  he  did  not  leave  them  to  indulge  their  apprehen¬ 
sions ;  “Fear  not,  I  bring  you  Good  Tidings  of 
Great  Joy,  which  shall  be  to  All  People.” 

<&ooti  of  ©imt  $o». 

This  is  the  designation — the  glorious,  the  heart-con¬ 
soling  designation  of  the  gospel  of  the  Son  of  God.  In 
these  good  tidings,  were  the  purposes  of  God  in  the 
redemption  of  mankind  most  fully  developed. 

mm  sijali  he  to  mi  people. 

This  must  have  struck  their  minds  with  a  deeper 
amazement.  It  was  counter  to  all  their  habits  of 
thought,  and  to  all  the  pride  of  their  national  feeling. 
The  Jews  had  all  along  been  the  peculiarly  favoured 
people  of  God,  to  them  appertained  the  1  adoption  and 
the  glory,’  and  the  covenants,  and  the  giving  of  the 
law,  and  the  service,  and  the  promises — {  whose  were 
the  fathers,  and  of  whom,  as  concerning  the  flesh. 
Christ  came,  who  is  over  all  God  blessed  for  ever.’ 
These  had  been  the  glories  and  the  peculiar  privileges 
of  the  Jews.  For  reasons,  the  full  knowledge  of  which 
is  hidden  from  us,  God  saw  fit  to  pass  over  the  other 


CHRISTMAS  EVE. 


275 


nations  of  the  earth,  and  to  confine  to  them  the  mighty 
advantages  of  a  direct  revelation.  Redemption  by  the 
blood  of  a  Saviour  was  taught  in  the  sacrifices  of  their 
law,  for  they  knew  that  ‘  without  the  shedding  of  blood 
there  is  no  remission.’  Types  and  figures  of  the 
most  varied  and  interesting  character  were  spread  out 
before  them,  and  1  redemption’  was  the  theme  of  many 
a  prophet’s  inspired  song.  If  they  understood  not  the 
spiritual  import  of  all  these,  it  was  owing  to  the  blind¬ 
ness,  not  of  their  understandings,  but  their  hearts.  But 
now ,  no  more  confined  to  the  Jews,  the  knowledge  of 
salvation  is  to  become  co-extensive  with  the  limits  of 
the  world.  No  obscurity  of  type  or  figure,  no  sacri¬ 
fice  of  beast,  no  prophet’s  song,  bids  us  look  through 
the  long  vista  of  many  years.  Since  the  eventful 
period  when  the  angels  told  the  shepherds  the  glad 
tidings  of  salvation  for  all  people ,  its  knowledge  has 
been  rapidly  increasing,  and  within  the  last  half  cen¬ 
tury  its  stride  has  been  gigantic.  That  land  can  now 
scarcely  be  pointed  out  which  knows  no  visitation  of 
the  beams  of  the  sun  of  righteousness.  The  Bible — the 
Bible  has  shed  its  glories  amidst  the  darkest  recesses 
of  heathen  ignorance,  and  wherever  the  missionary 
of  the  cross  hath  told  his  message  of  love  and  mercy, 
there  have  the  triumphs  of  the  cross  been  exhibited. 
It  is  true  1  there  remaineth  much  land  yet  to  be  pos- 


276 


RELIGIOUS  SOUVENIR. 


sessed,’  but  there  are  elements  at  work  which  must 
change  the  moral  condition  of  the  world.  God,  with¬ 
out  whose  aid  the  mightiest  efforts  would  be  unavail¬ 
ing,  has  condescended  to  stretch  forth  his  arm,  and 
1  not  by  might  nor  power,  but  by  the  spirit  of  the 
Lord  of  hosts,’  shall  nation  after  nation  be  converted 
to  the  faith  of  Christianity,  till  the  1  knowledge  of  the 
Lord  shall  cover  the  earth.’  It  should  be  the  prayer  of 
Christians,  unceasing,  and  their  endeavours  zealously 
bestowed,  that  the  kingdom  of  God  be  speedily  estab¬ 
lished  in  truth  and  righteousness  through  every  land 
which  sees  the  rising  glories  of  the  sun,  or  is  visited 
by  the  splendours  of  his  setting  rays. 

<Sabfour. 

Salvation  implies  release  from  the  penalty  of  sin,  and 
release  from  its  power,  and  glory  in  the  world  to  come. 
As  a  sacrifice  for  sin,  the  Saviour  takes  away  its  penalty 
and  has  destroyed  its  dominion.  By  the  purchased 
influences  of  the  holy  spirit,  he  prepares  for  heaven. 
An  act  of  pardon  to  a  criminal  does  not  entitle  him  to 
the  favour  and  approbation  of  him  against  whom  he 
had  offended.  God  requires  a  change  in  the  heart ,  and 
a  Saviour  is  one  who  saves  from  the  power  as  well  as 
the  penalty  of  sin.  1  Marvel  not  that  ye  must  be  born 
again.’  A  Saviour  for  sinners  would  by  no  means 


CHRISTMAS  EVE. 


277 


accomplish  the  object  of  his  mission,  unless  by  the 
operation  of  an  agency  which  is  supernatural  he  should 
qualify  them  for  a  state  of  glory. 

m\) o  is  €l)Vtst 

This  means  the  anointed  one — the  Messiah.  But 
there  is  a  climax  of  extraordinary  fitness  in  the  message 
of  the  angel — a  Saviour,  who  is  Christ 

£lje  3Lovtr, 

Jehovah.  This  is  a  testimony  to  the  divinity  of  Christ. 
He  is  a  Saviour  of  no  human  contrivance.  The  Lord 
of  angels  and  of  men,  1  Emanuel,  God  with  us.’ 

Well  then,  at  the  annunciation  of  a  truth  so  impor¬ 
tant,  might  the  angelic  host  break  forth  into  singing, 
and  the  burden  of  their  song  be  the  raptured  strain, 

£  Glory  to  God  !  salvation ’s  born  to-day.’ 

If  we  receive  this  message  with  our  hearts ,  and  ac¬ 
cept  of  this  free  and  full  salvation,  then  shall  the  glad 
tidings  of  great  joy,  announced  by  the  angel,  be  for 
us  consummated  in  a  happiness  and  glory,  the  full 
character  of  which  even  Gabriel’s  tongue  were  in¬ 
competent  to  tell. 


278 


RELIGIOUS  SOUVENIR. 


THE  INSCRIPTION  ON  THE  CROSS. 

From  the  French  of  Bossuet. 

Let  me  direct  your  attention  to  the  cross,  on  which 
was  displayed  this  inscription,  in  three  languages : 
‘  Jesus  of  Nazareth,  King  of  the  Jews.’  It  is  true 
that  Pilate  wrote  these  words  in  opposition  to  the  Jews. 
This  complacent  judge,  who  sacrificed  the  innocent 
Jesus  lest  he  should  offend  the  synagogue,  becomes, 
of  a  sudden,  obstinately  determined  to  preserve  three 
or  four  words  which  he  wrote  without  any  design, 
and  which  appeared  of  so  little  importance.  I  here 
behold  the  secret  interposition  of  God!  It  was  his 
will  that  the  royalty  of  Jesus  should  be  proclaimed 
from  the  ignominious  cross  on  which  he  expired.  The 
inscription  is  written  in  Hebrew,  which  is  the  lan¬ 
guage  of  the  people  of  God!  It  is  written  in  Greek, 
which  is  the  language  of  the  learned!  And  it  is 


INSCRIPTION  ON  THE  CROSS.  279 


written  in  Latin,  which  is  the  language  of  the  empire 
of  the  world.  Inventors  of  the  arts,  oh  Grecians! 
inheritors  of  the  promise  of  God,  oh  Jews!  lords  of 
the  world,  oh  Romans!  draw  near,  read  this  pregnant 
inscription,  and  bend  before  your  king!  The  time 
advances,  when  this  unpitied,  deserted  sufferer  will 
call  to  his  standard  all  the  inhabitants  of  the  earth. 
Let  me  yield  to  the  exultation  that  now  warms  my 
bosom,  while  Tertullian  informs  me,  that  in  his  days, 
in  the  infancy  of  the  church,  the  name  of  Jesus  was 
universally  adored: — 1  We  form,’  says  that  illustrious 
personage,  1  almost  the  greatest  number  in  every 
town.  Pars  pene  major  civitatis  cujusque.'  The 
invincible  Parthians,  the  antinome  Thracians,  so  called 
by  the  ancients  in  consequence  of  their  refractory 
nature,  which  disdained  the  restraint  of  law:  these 
ardent,  undisciplined  minds  submitted  to  the  yoke  of 
Jesus.  The  Medes,  the  Armenians,  the  Persians,  the 
remote  Indians,  the  Moors,  the  Arabs,  the  extensive 
provinces  of  the  East,  Egypt,  Ethiopia,  Africa,  the 
wandering  Scythian,  the  savage  inhabitant  of  Barbary, 
embrace  the  humanizing  doctrine  of  Christ.  England, 
inaccessible  from  its  immortal  bulwark — the  ocean, 
‘  even  on  the  shore  of  this  isle,’  says  Tertullian, 
‘  the  faith  of  Christ  has  landed.’  The  British  coast, 
which  the  stately  ships  of  the  warlike  Romans  ap- 


280 


RELIGIOUS  SOUVENIR. 


proached  with  caution,  with  peril,  and  with  labour, 
the  boat  of  the  holy  fisherman  found  of  easy  access. 
Shall  I  not  mention  the  inhabitants  of  Spain,  the 
warring  nation  of  the  Gauls,  and  the  ferocious  Ger¬ 
mans,  who  were  accustomed  to  boast,  that  they  never 
would  consent  to  fear,  unless  the  canopy  of  the 
heavens  should  fall  upon  their  heads  :  even  these 
tigers  crouch  submissive  to  the  Lamb  ?  Rome,  impe¬ 
rial  Rome,  that  proud  city,  drunk  with  the  blood  of 
the  martyrs  of  Jesus ;  even  she  lays  her  sceptre  at 
the  foot  of  the  cross!  Oh,  sacred  instrument  of  our 
salvation !  thy  form  shall  be  erected  over  every  temple, 
thy  form  shall  be  the  ornament  affixed  to  every  diadem. 
And,  oh  royal  master!  to  whom  we  so  justly  and  so 
exclusively  belong,  who  hast  redeemed  us  with  the 
price  of  unutterable  love  and  unbounded  charity,  we 
acknowledge  thee  to  be  our  sovereign :  we  offer  thee 
this  day  a  solemn  dedication  of  ourselves;  thy  law 
shall  be  the  law  of  our  hearts.  I  will  sing  thy  praises, 
I  will  never  cease  proclaiming  thy  mercies;  I  vow  to 
thee  eternal  fidelity;  and  in  this  entire  consecration 
of  myself  to  thy  service,  may  I  live  and  may  I  die ! 


281 


CLOSING  THOUGHTS. 

‘Who  knows  if  Heaven,  with  ever  bounteous  power, 

Shall  add  to-morrow  to  the  present  hour  ?’ 

We  have  now  reached  the  closing  article  of  our 
volume,  and  by  a  very  natural  association  we  are  led 
to  meditation  on  the  close  of  the  year  and  the  close 
of  our  lives.  And  although  the  Almighty  Creatorof  the 
universe  has  of  his  infinite  goodness  permitted  us  to 
arrive  at  the  commencement  of  another  year,  it  be¬ 
hoves  us,  amidst  the  festivities  which  characterise 
this  joyful  season,  to  cast  a  retrospective  glance  over 
the  year  which  has  ended ,  and  drop  a  tear  of  recollection 
over  the  time  which  we  have  mispent,  which  has 
now  passed  away  never  to  return;  and  from  the  expe¬ 
rience  of  the  past  learn  wisdom  for  the  conduct  of  the 
future.  It  is  true  there  are  moments  when  the  weighty 
consideration  that  we  have  not  diligently  employed 


282 


RELIGIOUS  SOUVENIR. 


the  time  and  talents  committed  to  our  care  comes 
home  to  every  bosom ;  but  it  is  no  less  true  that  the 
pleasures  and  vanities  of  the  world  soon  check  the 
emotion  raised  by  such  consideration,  and  stifle  the 
glow  of  feeling  ere  it  penetrates  to  the  heart,  or  influ¬ 
ences  the  conduct  of  men.  It  is  true,  that  resolutions 
of  amendment  are  formed  to  ‘redeem  the  time,’  but 
again  the  melancholy  truth  presents  itself,  that  pro¬ 
crastination,  with  insidious  wiles,  lures  the  mind  from 
the  performance,  till  resolution  itself  is  lost  in  the 
languor  of  indifference  or  the  gloom  of  forgetfulness. 
Let  us  seriously  reflect  before  we  suffer  procrastination 
to  steal  away  those  precious  moments  which  a  God  of 
infinite  mercy  has  given  us  to  enjoy  that  we  might 
improve,  and  which,  when  passed,  can  never  be  re¬ 
called. 

There  appears  no  position  established  with  greater 
truth,  than  that  the  time  allotted  to  every  man  in  this 
life  is  short.  The  most  natural  conclusion,  then,  which 
we  can  derive  from  this  is,  that  each  should  spend 
that  portion  of  it  which  he  can  call  his  own,  in  a  man¬ 
ner  which  will  conduce  most  to  his  happiness  and 
enjoyment  here,  and  which  will  afford  a  reasonable 
hope  of  enjoying  happiness  hereafter.  Though  it  be 
allowed  on  all  hands  that  time  is  precious,  and  that 
there  will  be  exacted,  at  the  day  of  judgment,  a 


CLOSING  THOUGHTS. 


283 


rigorous  account  of  the  manner  in  which  it  has  been 
employed ;  though  we  hear  men  continually  expatia¬ 
ting  on  the  uncertainty  of  life  :  yet,  strange  inconsis¬ 
tency!  how  few  do  we  behold  who  are  influenced  by 
these  considerations  !  We  know  that  life  is  a  shadow, 
a  vapour,  and  that  the  tenure  upon  which  it  is  held 
is  not  in  our  own  power ;  yet  we  are  continually 
extending  our  thoughts  towards  the  future,  and  the 
task,  which  should  have  been  performed  to-day,  is 
trusted  to  the  hoped-for  event  of  times  over  which  we 
are  conscious  we  may  have  no  control.  This  vice  of 
procrastination,  though  particularly  incident  to  youth, 
is  observed  to  extend  its  influence  even  to  those  whose 
hoary  locks  of  lengthened  years  proclaim  them  stand¬ 
ing  on  the  brink  of  the  grave ;  and  though  in  both  it 
is  a  crime  which  cannot  be  palliated,  yet  while  in  the 
former  it  appears  unpardonable  folly,  in  the  latter  it 
wears  the  disgusting  form  of  extremity  of  madness. 
In  youth  we  are  accustomed  to  delay,  and  flatter  our¬ 
selves  that  the  time  will  come  when  leisure  or 
convenience  will  better  enable  us  to  perform  a  duty 
than  the  present,  and  think  that  our  age  entitles  us  to 
defer  whatever  we  wish  to  be  deferred.  The  folly  of 
this  is  apparent.  Time  rolls  on,  and  the  mind  becomes 
distracted  and  overwhelmed  by  the  accumulated 
weight  of  plans  unfinished  and  duties  unperformed. 


284 


RELIGIOUS  SOUVENIR. 


Let  it  also  be  suggested  that  the  bloom  and  fire  of  youth 
form  no  barrier  against  the  chilling  blasts  of  death, 
and  even  the  vigour  of  manhood  cannot  shield  the 
bosom  from  his  dart.  Procrastination  is  the  leprosy  of 
the  soul,  and  it  becomes  the  province  of  every  one 
who  desires  the  eternal  welfare  of  his  fellows,  by  every 
means  in  his  power  to  endeavour  to  counteract  the 
progress  of  this  mental  malady,  the  contagion  of  whose 
influence  spreads  disease  through  every  degree  of 
society,  and  which,  in  proportion  to  its  continuance, 
is  enabled  more  successfully  to  resist  the  operations 
of  skill.  To  check  the  disease  in  its  first  approaches 
is  the  conduct  of  wisdom;  therefore,  to  the  young,  to 
be  watchful  against  the  encroachment  of  procrastina¬ 
tion,  is  advice  of  extensive  moment  and  worthy  to  be 
followed.  If,  then,  there  is  any  design  or  duty  which 
will  tend  to  promote  our  prosperity  or  happiness,  we 
should  seize  the  present  moment  before  time  shall  have 
deadened  the  vigour  of  effort.  Each  in  the  pursuit  of 
pleasure  is  indefatigable.  There  is  no  sensual  gratifi¬ 
cation  which  any  consideration  will  induce  us  to  delay ; 
but  it  is  only  in  affairs  which  require  vigorous  exertion 
and  industrious  application  that  we  are  liable  to 
procrastinate.  But  if,  in  the  pursuit  of  gratifications 
which  are  generally  vicious  and  always  transitory,  we 
are  ever  active,  how  much  more  so  should  we  be  in 


CLOSING  THOUGHTS. 


285 


the  provision  of  pleasures  which  no  incident  can 
destroy;  and  which  will  be  a  source  of  continual 
enjoyment  when  age  shall  have  relaxed  the  springs  of 
passion,  and  entirely  precluded  the  power  of  active 
and  vigorous  exertion.  These  are  the  pleasures  of  a 
mind  resting  its  hopes  on  the  prospects  of  a  future  and 
endless  state  of  happiness ;  the  gratifications  of  a  con¬ 
science  not  harrowed  by  the  remorse  of  time  mispent. 
‘As  he  who  lives  longest,’  says  the  Rambler,  ‘ lives 
but  a  little  while,  every  man  may  be  certain  that  he 
has  no  time  to  lose.  The  duties  of  life  are  commen¬ 
surate  to  its  duration;  and  every  day  brings  its  task, 
which,  if  neglected,  is  doubled  on  the  morrow.  But 
he  that  has  already  trifled  away  those  months  and 
years  in  which  he  should  have  laboured,  must  remem¬ 
ber  that  he  now  has  only  a  part  of  that  of  which  the 
whole  is  little,  and  that  as  the  few  moments  remaining 
are  to  be  considered  as  the  last  trust  of  Heaven,  not 
one  is  to  be  lost.’ 

Opportunities  of  acting  also,  it  is  important  to  be 
remarked,  do  not  always  occur;  and  we  may  lose,  by 
not  improving  a  favourable  opportunity,  advantages 
which  years  of  future  endeavour  may  not,  perhaps,  be 
able  to  encompass.  The  great  folly  of  those  deluded 
victims  of  procrastination  is  ably  displayed  by  the 
Latin  satirist,  and  the  advice  with  which  he  com- 

T 


286 


RELIGIOUS  SOUVENIR. 


mences  is  worthy  to  be  imprinted  on  the  recollection 
of  every  individual. 


Sapere,  aude, 

Incipe.  Vivendi  recte  qui  prorogat  horam, 

Rusticus  expectat  dum  defluat  amnis  j  at  ille 
Labitur,  et  labetur  in  omne  volubilis  aevum. 

II  or. 

Begin,  be  bold,  and  venture  to  be  wise, 

He  who  defers  his  work  from  day  to  day, 

Does  on  a  river’s  bank  expecting  stay, 

Till  the  whole  stream  that  stopped  him  should  be  gone, 
Which  runs,  and,  as  it  runs,  for  ever  will  run  on. 

Cowley. 


Let  us  then  resolve,  and  firmly  adhere  to  every 
resolution,  and  never  defer  to  the  future  what  it  is 
incumbent  on  us  now  to  perform.  Let  us  recollect 
that  every  moment  of  life  has  its  appropriate  duties. 
If  those  duties  are  well  performed,  if  those  moments 
are  well  employed,  they  will  produce  the  most  conso¬ 
ling  effects.  They  will  give  to  man  the  greatest  of  all 
blessings,  an  approving  conscience.  They  will  con¬ 
duce  to  the  happiness  of  the  present  life,  and  be 
intimately  connected  with  the  happiness  of  a  life 
hereafter. 

To  repent  of  sin — to  turn  to  God  in  newness  of 
life— to  dedicate  the  whole  being  to  him  who  redeemed 


CLOSING  THOUGHTS. 


287 


us  by  his  blood,  are  dictates  of  the  only  true  wisdom , 
and  this  we  recommend  and  seek  to  enforce  by  the 
following  declarations  of  Holy  Writ:  thus  closing  our 
labours  by  words  of  divine  inspiration.  ‘  Whatsoever 
thy  hand  findeth  to  do,  do  it  with  thy  might,  for  there 
is  no  counsel  or  device  or  knowledge  in  the  grave, 
whither  thou  goest.’  1  Go  to  now,  ye  that  say,  To-day 
or  to-morrow  we  will  go  into  such  a  city,  and  continue 
there  a  year,  and  buy  and  sell  and  get  gain.  Whereas 
ye  know  not  what  shall  be  on  the  morrow,  for  what  is 
your  life  ?  It  is  a  vapour  which  appeareth  for  a  little 
while,  and  then  vanisheth  away.’  ‘  The  night  cometh 
in  which  no  man  can  work.’ 


THE  END. 


Philadelphia: 

Printed  by  James  Kay,  Jun.  &  Co. 
4  Minor  Street. 


I&otal  anti  3&cltjjfous 

PUBLISHED  BY 

KEY,  MIELKE  &  BIDDLE,  BOOKSELLERS,  No.  181  MARKET 
STREET,  PHILADELPHIA. 


1.  POLYGLOTT  BIBLE.  The 
English  Version  of  the  Polyglott 
Bible.  This  edition  is  the  most 
elegant  and  useful  of  all  the  pocket 
editions  of  the  English  Bible,  and 
contains  a  new  selection  of  up¬ 
wards  of  60,000  References  to  Pass¬ 
ages  that  are  really  parallel.  This 
edition  is  particularly  recommended 
by  the  following  reverend  gentle¬ 
men;  Drs  M’Auley,  Bedell,  Tyng, 
Brantley,  Skinner,  Sargent  and 
Green ;  and  by  the  late  Rev.  Mr 
Sanford. 

2.  COURSE  OF  TIME,  by  Pol¬ 
lock. 

3.  Bickersteth  ON  PRAYER. 

4.  DIALOGUES  OF  DEVILS, 
by  the  Rev.  John  Mackgowan. 

5.  Bickersteth  ON  THE 
LORD’S  SUPPER. 

6.  Fox’s  BOOK  OF  MARTYRS, 
being  a  Universal  History  of  Chris¬ 
tian  Martyrdom,  from  the  birth  of 
our  blessed  Saviour  to  the  latest 
periods  of  persecution.  By  the 
Rev.  JohnFox,  A.  M.  With  copi¬ 
ous  and  important  additions,  rela¬ 
tive  to  the  recent  persecutions  in 
France.  In  2  vols  8vo.  Being  the 
only  complete  and  unmntilated  edi¬ 
tion  of  this  work  ever  presented  to 
the  American  public.  Embellished 
with  a  portrait  of  the  venerable  Fox, 
and  sixty  engravings  illustrative  of 
the  sufferings  of  the  martyrs  in  all 
ages  of  the  world. 

7.  PHILOSOPHY  OF  RELI¬ 
GION,  or  an  Illustration  of  the 


Moral  Laws  of  the  Universe.  By 
Thomas  Dick,  Author  of  the  Chris¬ 
tian  Philosopher,  Philosophy  of  a 
Future  State,  &c. 

8.  CHRISTIAN  PHILOSOPH¬ 
ER,  or  the  Connection  of  Science 
and  Philosophy  with  Religion.  By 
Thomas  Dick. 

9.  PHILOSOPHY  OF  A  FU¬ 
TURE  STATE.  By  Thomas  Dick. 

10.  PALEY’S  EVIDENCES  OF 
CHRISTIANITY,  with  a  portrait 
of  the  Author  on  steel,  t^nd  also  his 
life,  from  an  able  pen.  In  1  vol. 
18mo.  This  incomparable  work  is 
now,  for  the  first  time,  presented 
to  the  American  public  in  a  pocket 
form. 

11.  THE  CHRISTIAN  CON¬ 
TEMPLATED,  in  a  course  of  Lec¬ 
tures,  delivered  in  Argyle  Chapel, 
Bath.  By  William  Jay. 

12.  LIFE  OF  OUR  BLESSED 
LORD  AND  SAVIOUR  JESUS 
CHRIST.  By  Jeremy  Taylor, 
D.D.,  Vicar  of  Grasbury,  Brecon. 

13.  YOUNG  MAN’S  OWN 
BOOK.  A  Manual  of  Politeness, 
Intellectual  Improvement,  and  Mo¬ 
ral  Deportment ;  calculated  to  form 
the  character  on  a  solid  basis,  and 
to  insure  respectability  and  success 
in  life. 

14.  YOUNG  LADY’S  OWN 
BOOK.  A  Manual  of  Intellectual 
Improvement  and  Moral  Deport¬ 
ment.  By  the  Author  of  the  Young 
Man’s  Own  Book. 


Key,  Mielke  &  Biddle  have  in  press,  edited  by  the  Author  of  the 
“Young  Man’s  and  Young  Lady’s  Own  Books,” 

1.  A  splendid  Dictionary  of  the  English  Language,  to  be  called  THE 
YOUNG  LADY’S  AND  GENTLEMAN’S  POCKET  AND  PARLOUR 
DICTIONARY;  compiled  from  a  late  London  edition  of  Walker  and 
Johnson,  improved  by  Davenport;  and  embellished  with  portraits  of 
Johnson  and  Walker  on  steel. 

2.  THE  SUNDAY  BOOK,  FOR  BOTH  SEXES,  which  will  con¬ 
sist  of  suitable  readings,  &c.  for  the  Day.  Further  particulars  will  be 
furnished  hereafter. 


* 


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Princeton  Theological  Seminary-Speer  L  brary 


